


Growth of a Shadow

by KINGBeerZ



Series: Shadows [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Altea fire emblem, Coming of Age, Gen, Magic, Plot, Pre-Canon, Prequel, soooo much mage lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KINGBeerZ/pseuds/KINGBeerZ
Summary: Behind every legend is a shadow and behind every shadow is a story. The tale of how the Hero of Shadows ended up joining the Knights of Altea. The life of Kassil Delcurte, and his time in the village of Sera. (A.K.A. the backstory fic no one asked for but I wrote anyway).





	1. Deals

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, welcome to my fic 'Growth of a Shadow', this is the first fic I have ever written, however the whole story is finished and I shall be posting constantly as I edit it. I plan to post twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays (I live in Australia so for those of you in America that is probably more likely to be Mondays and Thursdays). I hope everyone enjoys this fic, and if you do like it be sure to post a comment, I would love to discuss people's thoughts on the fic, the game, the series, whatever. Anyhow I hope you all enjoy!

596 Archanean Calendar.  
Lord Waldemar Delcurte considered himself to be a calm and rational man, when the lives of those in his province were on the line as a nobleman of Altea he considered it his duty to remain a stoic figure, one unmovable by tragedy and untouchable by fear, in part this is what caused what he was to do to rankle him so. Waldemar paced the plush carpet of his elegant study, running a hand through his deep crimson hair. He let out a sigh, that the situation grew so dire, that he should live to see it, and be a part of such times… he shook himself sternly, the time for such regrets had passed and soon he would have to take action for the good of the people. 

A soft knock upon his study door alerted Lord Delcurte to a servant’s address  
“My Lord, your… guest has arrived” came a woman’s shaky voice through the door. Breathing deeply to collect himself Waldemar replied.  
“Bring him up at once please” He turned and quickly began to tidy his appearance in the mirror beside his ornate desk, brushing back his long hair into place and dusting off his rich brown doublet. He seated himself behind his desk after completion. Moments later the servant from Earlier entered.  
“My Lord Delcurte, I present the Pontifex Gharnef of Khadein.” As the man in question stepped into the room Waldemar understood his servant’s apprehension. The Pontifex himself did not strike the most impressive of figures, a somewhat short man with dark brown hair, lank and oily, falling back behind his head from a pronounced widow’s peak to frame a face that could only be described as skeletal, his eyes were sunken with the pupil’s being barely visible amongst the whites and he wore robes of deep green and blue, appearing a few sizes too big for the way they draped from his bony frame. Yet for all he appeared a walking corpse the man in question was clothed in an unmistakable air of malice, power and dread. Waldemar found himself shrinking back into the plush surface of his chair involuntarily and he saw a smug smirk paint Gharnef’s face in response. Composing himself Lord Delcurte turned to his servant.  
“That shall be all Amy, you may leave us”  
“At once sir” she dipped a quick curtsy then turned and hurried from the study. 

Gharnef watched her shrewdly as she fled.  
“Ah, the lesser orders, always so quick to flee from their betters, how humorous” he gave a rasping chuckle at this. Waldemar felt his skin crawling at the sound but resolved not to be intimidated, he tilted his chin up and addressed Gharnef.  
“Sir Pontifex we have business to discuss, I believe. Would you care for a seat?” he indicated the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Gharnef stood examining the chair and Waldemar just long enough to make the man feel uncomfortable before wordlessly striding forward and seating himself. Gharnef continued to stare at him in an unnerving fashion. The lord cleared his throat and addressed the pontifex.  
“In response to your recent letters I requested your presence tonight in order to discuss the alliance you proposed” he began formally.  
“I am aware of why you asked me here, although I must say” he looked around the room “that your resources do not seem to quite meet the standard I had hoped, this rustic little shack does not inspire much confidence in me” the pontifex claimed with a dismissive wave of his hand. Waldemar felt heat rise in his face.  
“This is the ancestral manor of the family Delcurte, a noble and respected house of Altea, you would defame it so!?” In response to his near shouting Gharnef let out another superior chuckle.  
“Bah, Altea is less than a century old, and you hardly showed such pride or confidence in it in our previous correspondence” the withered man dismissively claimed. Another sly smile crossed his face.

“Or perhaps you are having second thoughts about an alliance…”  
“No, no, never, I still very much wish to aid you” Lord Delcurte quickly responed.  
“And yet… we reach the same problem, you requested to be given governance of Altea under the rule of my master in the wake of his inevitable victory, yet what do you truly offer in return?” Gharnef inquired hauteur and condescension colouring his voice. Waldemar knew this was the moment. He could no longer turn back. A traitor to his country. Yet if all that he had heard from the Pontifex was true… Surely a living traitor was a better lord than a dead man. He let out another despairing sigh.

“I can offer you an insider’s perspective, the weak points in the capital’s defenses, knowledge of the opportune moments to strike, and when the time comes to fight for Altea… I can hold my men back” his treachery tasted vile upon his tongue. Gharnef raised a brow.  
“And that’s it? You simply promise not to attack us, and give us some pitiful information any of my master’s numerous spies could grant. Not a very fair trade for governance of Altea is it?” The superior tone the Pontifex was taking was greatly chafing upon Lord Delcurte. He slammed his hand on the desk.  
“And what do you propose? That I order my men to turn on their fellows, bathe the land in Altean blood spilt by its own people! What sort of man do you take me for Pont-”  
“Silence!” Gharnef practically roared in response to Waldemar’s raised voice.

“You should be grateful that you are being given this chance to preserve yourself! Yet you show such disrespect to me and my master, your arrogance is unspeakable, the Regent of Altea for such worthless support, you overstep yourself Delcurte! You-“ Gharnef stopped his near mad rant, Waldemar was about to question him when he raised a hand indicating silence.  
“Someone’s spying on us” Gharnef said quietly, and Waldemar felt the blood drain from his face. If news of his planned treachery escaped he would be imprisoned and executed, all for nothing. He quickly rose and ran to the door, flinging it open to see who had been observing his meeting. He was met with the terrified hazel eyes of his son.  
Kassil was crouched in the doorway clearing having just been pressed against the door to eavesdrop until it was flung open, he had clearly snuck out of bed to do so judging by the deep green nightgown he was still wearing. Waldemar grasped his son’s arm and pulled him inside the study, quickly closing the door behind them. He crouched down to be level with the now standing seven year old.  
“Kassil, what were you doing outside my study?” His son by this point seemed to be panicking, his face was becoming blotchy and there was a hitch in his voice.  
“I, I had a bad dream and I wanted to see you father, but then there was shouting, and, is, is there going to be a war?” Kassil quickly working his way to hysterics by the end of the answer was quivering under his father’s gaze. Waldemar stroked a hand through his son’s deep purple hair to calm him down.  
“No Kassil, don’t worry, there’s no war, the Pontifex and I were just discussing a… business deal,” as Waldemar indicated Gharnef he heard his son give a soft exclamation. He thought it to be at the man’s unnerving appearance, but upon facing the pontifex again Lord Delcurte noticed he was staring at Kassil with frightening intensity. Swallowing his apprehension he stood and looked down at his frightened child.  
“Now son, is that any way to treat a guest?” He schooled his voice into calmness.  
“You are the future Lord of these lands. I want to you to properly address our guest, Pontifex Gharnef.” In an impressive show of control Kassil swallowed loudly and quieted his sobs, making a polite bow towards the sorcerer.  
“Kassil Delcurte, it is an honour to meet you. Lord Pontifex” as he straightened Waldemar gave him a pat on the head.  
“That’s a good lad, now, it’s far past your bedtime and you need your rest, so I want you to go back to bed now, and don’t tell your mother anything about this… we want it to be a surprise for her.” He somewhat awkwardly lied, luckily a small child is easily convinced when they are allowed to hold a secret and Kassil brightened immediately.  
“Don’t worry father, you can trust me,” he said puffing out his chest.  
“That’s wonderful, now back off to bed with you” Waldemar said, ushering his son out of the room.

Waldemar shut the door and turned back towards Gharnef who was now wearing an uglier smile than he had all night, quite an achievement in his mind. He walked around his guest and seated himself once more at his desk. Struggling to look Gharnef in the eye he inquired  
“So we cannot make an arrangement then?” He said tiredly, gharnef continued on with that infuriating superior smirk.  
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that much,” the pontifex replied causing Waldemar to sit up more in his chair.  
“So there is some aid I can give then, something to place us in favour with your master?” Hope creeping into his voice. Rather than reply Gharnef rose from his chair and casually walked to the sideboard, without invitation he picked up a bottle of wine sitting there, poured it into a goblet and began to sip it. After several minutes of waiting Lord Delcurte lost his patience.  
“Well, is there some deal we can strike!?” he asked a bit too forcefully, but what seemed to enrage the Pontifex before simply elicited a chuckle from him now.  
“Do you have much knowledge of magic Delcurte?” The Pontifex asked casually sipping his drink as he took a slow tour of the room.  
“I, ah, no, I cannot say I do.” Waldemar replied somewhat taken aback.  
“Hmm, I am hardly surprised, your presence is abysmally average on a magical level,” he drawled.  
“Presence?” Came the Lord’s quizzical reply.  
“Your presence, aura, resonance, aptitude, whatever you should call it. In essence you could spend years studying and never even rise to mediocrity. In fact I should doubt you would,” Waldemar felt great rage fill him at such casual insults to his person and was about to respond when Gharnef cut him off.  
“No, no, don’t respond, that was hardly my point. My point is, that unlike you, your boy who was just in here has very pronounced magical potential, clear enough for one such as I, trained in the arts, to feel” Waldemar was somewhat taken aback at this.  
“So Kassil is some kind of magical prodigy?” This seemed to amuse Gharnef even further by the laugh he let out.  
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but if you said he had potential you would be correct. With training potential could become power, power useful to me… and my master” Gharnef drained the last of the wine from his goblet, strode back to the desk and placed it down before taking a seat himself.  
“Such power could justify an alliance” he finished. Waldemar felt his stomach drop out. To betray his country was one thing, but to give his son to someone like Gharnef was another.  
“You hesitate, why do so?” Gharnef’s voice was sickly sweet as said this. Waldemar was unsure whether he was trying to taunt or console.  
“You give me one child and you strike an alliance that can protect all your so loved citizens and earn the favour of my master, really it’s a generous deal. Of course I do still expect everything else you offered,” the Pontifex said whilst leaning forward, Looming over Waldemar despite his short stature. The Lord Delcurte swallowed a lump in his throat.  
“If I give him to you. You will not harm him.” He tried to make it a statement but it came out more like a plea, and they both knew it.  
“Not a hair on his head, so long as he proves himself useful, and you cooperate” Gharnef replied. Waldemar felt sick, he was going to do this. Gods forgive him.  
“When do you want him?” The Lord replied shakily. Triumph appeared on Gharnef’s hideous features as he settled back into his chair.  
“I have some work I need to take care of, I will return in a year’s time. By that point I expect you to have made a start. Gather information on those so called weak points in the castle, and start your boy on Old Khadeinian. He’ll never be able to cast without it.” This went largely over Waldemar’s head, he simply stared into space, appalled at himself yet aware of the necessity of his actions. He still managed to nod numbly in response.  
“There’s a good man, always best when a deal is beneficial to all.” 

Gharnef rose from his chair, seemingly pleased with himself and veritably swaggered over to the sideboard where he picked up the bottle of wine, half full, sitting there, tucked it into a pocket in his robes and walked out the door. Lord Waldemar Delcurte continued to stare into space.


	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Mylene Delcurte makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here is chapter two of the fic, I am proud of myself for updating on time, and I hope that anyone who reads the fic enjoys this chapter, we get a perspective change (there are a few in this work, I feel like it's important we that a sense of everyone's motivations and feelings can be gained looking through their eyes). If you enjoyed reading please leave a comment, I would be happy to talk with anyone about any aspect of my work, the game or the series!

“My Dear, why don’t we take a walk, as the sun is so pleasant today?” Mylene Delcurte called to her husband as she entered the sitting room. The man in question simply mumbled something to himself, adjusted his seat in his plush chair and continued to stare into the flames dancing within the fireplace.

Mylene felt her heart sink and tugged upon the lace of one of her sleeves as she turned to hide her disappointment.  
“Very well then, perhaps another time,” she said quietly, shutting the door as she left the room. Mylene had noticed her husband becoming increasingly withdrawn and contemplative, whilst Waldemar had always been a somewhat stoic man he had always had a smile for her, or time to indulge a fancy to escape the manor and business from time to time. Yet as of late the man could barely rouse a response from himself. It was as if all the warmth had left him in the past few months. When he was not staring aimlessly or ignoring the world he had taken to retreating to his study, locking himself in there for hours on end.   
Perhaps, she mused to herself the answer to her husband’s melancholy lay within.  
\---#---

The key slid easily into the study’s lock. It was a simple matter for Mylene to acquire the spare key from the servants’ quarters with a claim of using it to reclaim a lost hat she had left within the study. Opening the door she found the room much as it always was: Waldemar’s papers and memos stacked neatly on the corner of a lavish wooden desk with writing implements and an inkpot sitting beside them, bookshelves lined one wall whilst through the windows on the opposite one she could see the night sky. 

Deciding to start her search with her husband’s recent correspondence Lady Delcurte made her way to the pile of paper’s left on the desk. Flipping through these she found nothing of insight, they simply contained the latest records of crops produced in the Delcurte region as well as some tax records, with a huff she placed them back down. 

She next proceeded to the bookshelves lining one wall, again half of these contained records of financial dealings rather than books. Moving along she saw her husband’s political and historical texts, a few scientific treatises and the occasional novel. What she saw next puzzled her, two shelves were occupied with texts detailing magical theory and the Old Khadeinian language. Even more strange were the few spell tomes she saw on the wall, looking to be of military grade. This was indeed a puzzle, perhaps her husband had taken to studying magical theory in hopes of becoming a mage himself, Altea had very few spellcasters so she supposed it was possible he could be teaching himself, but this would hardly explain his change in attitude. 

Turning away from the curious tomes she started to search the desk draws, but was impeded when she tried to open the second one down to find it locked, Mylene tugged on it futilely a few more times before dropping the handle. She felt certain that whatever was in this draw could give her proper insight into Waldemar’s state of mind and looked around the desk to find a key, sadly to no avail. Her eyes did however catch sight of a small steel letter opener sitting next to the inkwell. Mylene picked up the letter opener and proceeded to jam it into the draw’s lock, she honestly felt a bit silly trying to force the lock with the tiny knife, but after a few minutes of forced jiggling she heard a crack and a crunch from the lock and found that the draw slid open with a bit of force, now that the lock had been mangled open.

Within the draw itself she saw a pile of letters, correspondence between her husband and the Pontifex Gharrnef. She shivered at the memory of the man, as she saw him out after that night he visited he kept giving her nasty looking smiles whilst seeming eminently pleased with himself. She picked up one off the letters and began to read through it, her blood ran cold and grew only colder as she picked up one letter after the other. What was within, what her husband planned to do, she had no words for it, and her cold fear turned to burning rage, right as she heard the door to the study click open behind her.

Waldemar wandered into the office in the half absent state he resided in now, taking a few seconds to even notice his Wife’s presence, looking up with a start when he did so.  
“Mylene, what are you doing in here?” He asked, looking at the letters clutched in her left hand. She turned to him, fury in her eyes.  
“What. Are. These?” She said slowly. Then held the offending letters before him.  
“Where did you get those?” He replied quietly, seating himself at the opposite side of the desk  
“From your blasted desk, you dastard, where else?” She shouted in return.  
“You went through my desk.” He said again slowly, barely reacting to her outburst.  
“Don’t try to turn this on me, I was worried about you, you were distant, troubled… well now I know why, hmm? Tell me, dear husband,” she practically spat the words “did you drive a hard bargain to sell your own son and homeland to a madman, or did you get a raw deal?” Contempt dripped from her words.   
“That’s not how it was!” Waldemar slammed his fist on the desk and started to raise his voice to match her own.  
“You don’t know what’s to come, we can’t win, but if we help them, Gharnef and his master, our people might be spared.” He continued.  
“So you’d rather give up than try at all? I thought you were a better man than that.” Mylene replied coldly, eyes darkening as she looked at her husband. Waldemar released a sigh.  
“I have to look after the people.” He said in a resigned tone.  
“Look after the people? You plan to give our child and people to a lunatic sorcerer!” Mylene shouted.  
“You can’t do this.” She declared with finality.  
“It’s already done…” He replied, dead eyes staring straight through her.

Mylene moved to start leaving the room, letters and letter opener still clutched in either hand when she felt a vice like grip upon her wrist. Her hand opened instinctually in reaction, letters spilling to the floor. She whipped around, her azure locks whirling to face the cold resolution on her husband’s face.  
“You can’t let anyone know of this Mylene, or it will all be for nothing.” He spoke in that eerily quiet tone. Mylene struggled to free her arm from Waldemar’s grip.  
“Let me go,” she protested. His grip tightened, and she could see fear in his eyes.  
“Please, promise me… I can’t lose you too.” Horrified at the implications of this, Mylene stopped moving for a moment.  
“If… if you tell anyone, I can’t protect you, my love.” She felt bile rise within her at this pleading. He was planning to destroy their family and country and still addressed her with endearment.   
“Don’t you ever call me that again.” She said, a moment before bringing the metal handle of the letter opener in a wide swing to slam against Waldemar’s temple. Se dropped like a sack of flour, and she fled the room. Making her way down the hall towards her son’s room, she knew what she had to do next, but the thought tore her up inside.

Mylene gently turned the shiny doorknob of Kassil’s bedroom and pushed it open, a shaft of light spilling into the dark room. Numerous toys and books (some in a language Mylene didn’t recognize) were strewn about the room all over the soft blue carpeted floor. The curtains before the balcony were only partway drawn and fluttered in the soft night breeze. Mylene could see Kassil asleep in his bed, the lump of his body slowly rising and falling with his breath. She took a deep breath to steady herself and made her way over to the bed.

She began to stroke her hand through his deep purple hair.  
“Kassil dear, you need to wake up,” she said firmly, causing him to stir. He rolled over and sat up partly to look at her blearily.  
“Mother, what’s going on… why do I need to wake up?” He said slowly, still mostly asleep.  
“I’m going to give you a special treat sweetheart, how would you like a ride on Missie?” At the mention of her Pegasus’ name Kassil immediately perked up, waking quickly.  
“Yes, yes, I want to ride on Missie… but I thought you said I wasn’t old enough” Confusion dawning on him halfway through his reply.  
“Well, I changed my mind” Mylene said softly. Hoping he wouldn’t argue too much, she doubted Waldemar would be knocked out for long.  
“Okay then!” He replied happily, never one to turn away a gift. Mylene debated whether she could lead him down to the courtyard but decided the risk of running into a servant who may try to stop her leaving with Kassil in the middle of the night was too high. She led her son to the balcony and let out a shrill whistle. It took only a few moments for Missie’s white form, practically glowing in the moonlight to rise up beside the balcony, hovering in place waiting to be mounted. Mylene hoped she could handle the journey, Missie was a steed only used to short pleasure flights taken upon Mylene’s whims, not a great beast of war as many of her kind were. 

She looked at Kassil and he had gone rather pale.  
“Shouldn’t we, go down to the courtyard to get on,” he said falteringly. Mylene gave his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement.  
“This is part of the adventure of riding sweetheart, let go of your fears, I’m going to put you on her first, I need you to tightly hold on while I mount after so you don’t fall.” He started to shrink back at the mention of falling and she looked him in the eyes.  
“You can do it.” With that she lifted Kassil with some difficulty and settled him on the steed’s back, he quickly made a grab for Missie’s mane and held on for dear life. After a moment she climbed on behind him, leaning over him and encircling him with her own arms, then grasped onto Missie’s mane firmly herself. Mylene clicked her tongue and with that the Pegasus began its spiraling ascent, leaving behind the manor. 

The wind plucked and bit Mylene through the soft fabric of her gown, a poor fit for night flying. Kassil complained incessantly about the cold (his nightshirt leaving his lower legs and feet completely exposed to the pronounced chill) and his fear of falling down for the first hour of the flight, during which time Mylene tried to soothe him by holding him close to keep him warmer. After this first hour he began to drop off to sleep once more, and Mylene had to be very careful to avoid him falling off Missie. Another two hours of flying saw them approaching their destination as Mylene saw the small village, her hometown of Sera below her, nestled amongst the forest. 

A few minutes later Missie touched down in a paddock beside a small and cozy looking cottage on the edge of town. Mylene dismounted and led Missie with a hand upon her neck whilst Kassil still slept on her back. She left the Pegasus before the porch of the house before stepping up and approaching the door. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, after everything tonight this should hardly be intimidating her, and yet she struggled to knock. Releasing the breath she raised her fist and rapped sharply upon the door, half a minute later it opened slowly.


	3. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mylene begs for aid from her estranged father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's chapter three, quite a dialogue heavy one (I like dialogue though haha) and we finally have Maclir, bringing the total number of non-OCs in this fic up to two... yeah prequel fics are like that. I hope everyone reading this enjoys, and if you do, please leave a comment, I would love to hear some feedback. Okay, next update is tuesday, goodbye until then!

Maclir strode amongst the dead. All around him the clash of weapon upon weapon rang out clearly, the occasional burst of light from magic all that illuminated the greyness, causing the splatters of blood to stand in sharp relief to the muddied ground. From out of the blackness an axe came flying, Maclir cleanly sidestepped its swing and thrust his sword through the side of his attacker, a too-young yet too-blurred face fell past him and landed on the ground with a slight splash and a meaty thud. Maclir found he couldn’t recognize the colours the man was wearing but it hardly mattered, he was a sworn knight of Altea and for his kingdom he would fight. As he moved forward he heard the ground stop squelching beneath his boots and begin to crunch, he knew what he’d see if he looked down, but he had no desire to witness the bones of the fallen, so on he marched, ever forwards. 

A sharp knock broke apart reality, and Maclir took a moment to place himself. He stared up at the thatch roof of his cottage, even through his blanket he could feel a slight chill of the bitter night. Taking a moment to think he realized the knocking likely came from the door he quickly put a belt around his waist and shrugged on a coat against the cold before moving to answer it. He fingered the dagger strapped to his belt, wary of an attacker and wondered who would be visiting this late. 

He had not expected to see his daughter standing outside the door. She was dressed in an elaborate gown of blues and silvers out of place amongst the rural surrounds. Her hair strangely was out of place its long azure tresses knotted and tangled as if she’d been running on a windy day. For a few seconds they both stood and stared at the other before he broke the silence.   
“Mylene,” the word was cold. She clearly noticed that at the slight flinch she gave before dropping into a polite curtsy.   
“Father, might I come in? The night is rather cold.” She said, eyes downcast, the perfect image of polite nobility, just like she’d always wanted. Maclir strove not to roll his eyes.   
“Come in then, fool girl,” he said, turning and entering the cabin. He heard her make her way to the far side of the porch before returning to enter. 

Maclir lit a lantern and placed it on the rough table occupying the central room of the cabin and turned to face Mylene. He was somewhat taken aback to notice her carrying a sleeping child, he raised a single eyebrow in question and Mylene answered him quietly.  
“is there somewhere he can sleep?” Maclir indicatd towards the spare room that had been empty for years since Mylene’s own departure a decade ago. Mylene gave a nod of understanding before disappearing into the room and emerging a minute later sans child, carefully shutting the door behind her. She then took a seat at the table with Maclir taking the one opposite.   
“Who’s the child?” He decided to be straightforward with this reunion. Mylene took a moment to answer.  
“He’s my son, your grandson.” she said softly, looking towards the closed door. Maclir gave a firm nod, he’d expected as much, and yet he still felt slightly hurt.  
“And you chose not to tell me I had a grandchild?” he said firmly.  
“You never came to the wedding, I assumed you didn’t want anything more to do with me.” she replied meeting his gaze, this time unflinching. Maclir scoffed.  
“You chose to wed that cad after running out and telling me that I was, what was your wording? “A bitter old man who would be pleased by nothing but war.”” He tartly said, not bothering to hide the offence he still felt.   
“You still hold that grudge, I tried to fix it, I tried to have you be a part of the family, you chose to reject my offers.” She defended. He waved his hand in dismissal of her claims.   
“You didn’t want me as part of the family, you invited me because you felt obligated, you’d made it quite apparent that you thought yourself better than where you came from, you might as well not have to die of shame for your backwater knight father showing up to give you away.” Mylene looked ready to argue again before slumping forward and rubbing her forehead with a sigh of resignation.   
“And you wonder why I didn’t tell you about Kassil.” she muttered to herself. Maclir heard her and felt a pang of guilt at his outburst. 

“So, why did you come here? surely it wasn’t just to bring up all these wonderful memories we have together.” He asked, trying to lighten the mood slightly. This earned him a mirthless chuckle from Mylene as she began to run her fingers through her hair to unknot it somewhat. She looked away and continued simply running her fingers through her hair for a minute, Maclir tired of her stalling and loudly cleared his throat. Mylene took a breath.  
“It’s… his father.” Trouble in the marriage. Maclir couldn’t keep a satisfied smirk off of his face which Mylene quickly saw.  
“Fine, you were right, is that what you want to hear? He’s a traitorous scoundrel, the man I loved and chose to marry sold out his country and tried to give our son to a lunatic sorcerer. Do you feel satisfied?” The old man was taken aback by this. He could see the tears streaming in fat droplets down his daughter’s face, he made his way around the table and tried to give her an awkward hug.  
“He wanted to give Kassil away, give him to a madman who wants to conquer the world… he wants to help him.” She said softly.  
“What do you mean he wants to help him?” Maclir asked quietly. Mylene sobbed for a moment and cleared her throat.

“There’s going to be an invasion, there were letters in Waldemar’s office, he’s been spying for this man, Gharnef, gaining information about Altea’s weaknesses. When we are attacked, he plans to make us fall, and in return, he was promised governance of the country.” Maclir screwed his eyes shut. He knew that man was no good, but he hardly expected such treachery from the snake.   
“We need to tell King Cornelius.” He said, breaking away from her. She quickly grabbed his sleeve and whirled to face him.  
“Please, no, you can’t!” She said frantically.  
“You want to protect that Dastard still?” Maclir was taken aback, but Mylene shook her head.  
“No but, we have no evidence, I dropped the letters before I escaped, and besides, if you bring this to the King, Waldemar will know I have come to see you”  
“Then why did you come if not to warn me? To warn the kingdom?” He asked. And she looked downcast once again.  
“I… I have a favour I need to ask of you” She said slowly. He nodded and met her gaze.  
“What is it you need?” He replied, and she looked at him quizzically.  
“Just like that… you will help me?” She sounded unbelieving and Maclir nodded once again.  
“I don’t know if I can forgive the past but… I am still your father, what do you need?” She smiled sadly and turned to look towards the closed bedroom door.   
“He still wants Kassil, to cement his alliance with Gharnef, I don’t know why, but the sorcerer wants him, I need to hide him, Waldemar has no knowledge of you-“  
“So your own grudge was useful at least” Maclir interrupted, joking bitterly. And he got a tired smile in return.  
“I need you to look after him, to keep him safe, I just, gods. I can’t let that man have him, I met Gharnef briefly and he felt… wrong as if the very air around him became twisted and sickly, he’s corrupted… somehow.” Mylene closed her eyes before continuing.  
“Please, father I need you to keep Kassil safe, Waldemar’s men may come but they won’t know you are anyone special, just keep Kassil hidden, give him a good life, like I can’t.” Her tone was desperate and tears were still slipping through her closed eyelids, the makeup she was wearing running in streaks down her cheeks. Maclir tightened a hand on her shoulder and she let out a choking sob.

“He will not come to harm with me, I will do my best for him.” Maclir said firmly and Mylene let out a sigh.   
“I cannot stay long father, I am going to try and draw Waldemar’s search away, please look after him.” She said rising once again. She moved over to the small desk that sat in the corner of the room and pulled a sheet of paper off it, she wrote for a few minutes, pausing every few seconds to consider her words before finally replacing the quill in its holster and handing the letter to Maclir.  
“Please, if you can… give that to him.” Maclir was puzzled but still took the letter.  
“Don’t you want to say goodbye to him yourself?” He asked her softly, and she shook her head.  
“If I tried I would lose my nerve and probably never be able to leave” A bitter laugh left her throat.  
“I was never brave enough to be a knight like you wanted, but I can try” She gave Maclir one last hug before turning around and exiting the cottage, Maclir saw her out, she mounted a Pegasus standing beyond the porch and she looked at him one last time.  
“Thank you, father” She said with a sad look on her face.  
“Just take care of yourself now” He replied and she gave him that tired smile one last time.  
“I wish I could, goodbye.” And with that she kicked the Pegasus’ sides and it took a quick run and leapt into the air, dropping a few feathers as it flew into the night sky. Maclir walked back into the cabin, dreading the future of the country and what he had just gotten himself into.


	4. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassil awakes in an odd place, with a possible ruffian as his only companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo chapter four, sorry it came up a bit later tonight but still it is up. If anyone enjoys the story please feel free to leave a comment, I would love to discuss stuff about the fic, let me know what you liked or didn't like.

Kassil stirred gradually to wakefulness, he could still feel his stomach swooping and diving a little in the rhythm of Missie’s wingbeats, giving him a pleasant sensation of weightlessness and he wavered on the edge of being awake and asleep. He felt himself gradually drifting back towards sleep when some footsteps in the next room gradually pulled him away from somnolence. The footsteps sounded odd, they didn’t have the slight creaking to be heard from the wooden halls of the mansion’s upper story, but rather a dulled slapping sound. As first he noticed the sound then did he begin to realise that his bed felt different, firmer and less luxuriously soft, his blanket had a decidedly scratchy feel to it and he frowned to himself as he began to put together all this conflicting stimuli.

Kassil slowly sat up and surveyed his surroundings, the room he was in was far smaller than his own. There was only the low and small bed he rested on in one corner opposite the door and what looked to be a small roughly made table and chair at the wall past the foot of the bed. All the walls were wood as well, rather than the fine plastered stone walls of Delcurte manor. He peered down at the floor and was shocked to see it looked like dirt itself, he carefully reached down and brushed his hand along it, oddly enough it came away clean rather than covered in dirt as he would have thought. There was a woven mat on the floor completing the furnishings of the room, the whole room itself being dimly illuminated through a shuttered window next to the table and chair. 

Deciding it was safe to place his feet on the strange floor, Kassil daintily emerged from the bed, his soft cotton nightshirt a comforting weight in contrast to the chill of his bare feet on the earthen floor. He crept slowly to the door of the room and pushed it open, and peered into the next room. It was somewhat larger than the one he had slept in but filled with furniture with a similar homemade feel to it, the floor was the same strange dirt except near a fireplace which was bordered by stone. He saw a fire blackened pot hanging over the embers present in the hearth. Looking slightly further in he saw there was a man sitting at one of the chairs around a rough table. 

“So you’re awake lad.” The voice came from the seated man and Kassil jumped slightly at the address. He opened the door fully as the man rose from his seat and turned to face him, Kassil wondered if the man was some sort of ruffian, he would not be surprised if it were so based upon the barbarity of their surroundings. He got a sick feeling this may be some sort of kidnapping, but tried to work up his courage, he stood up straighter and looked the man in the eye.  
“Who are you?” He asked proudly. the old man looked somewhat amused at either the question or Kassil’s stance.  
“I’m your grandfather lad,” he responded simply. Wheels whirred in Kassil’s mind, the man was obviously lying, his grandfather was a portly man with an enormous crimson beard and very little hair, this man had short curt greying cobalt hair and a small neatly trimmed beard. His grandad was soft and friendly and this man looked like he was made out of gristle and hard angles. His grandfather also certainly did not live in some dirt house.  
“No you’re not, you don’t look anything like my grandfather,” Kassil said with certainty. Which seemed to amuse the man more.  
“I’m your mum’s dad boy, I raised her in this cottage.” He pointed towards the room Kassil had just emerged from.  
“She slept in that bed you just woke up in, I am certainly your grandfather.” The man seemed utterly convinced that he was somehow Kassil’s grandfather and Kassil decided not to push against this obvious delusion quite so directly.   
“Where is mother then?” He asked smugly. He remembered going flying with mother and this would surely catch the Ruffian in his lie. The old ruffian paused for a moment, diverting his eyes before answering.   
“Your mother, had some business to attend to,” he turned and walked over to a small desk in the corner of the main room and picked up a piece of paper from it , then returned to Kassil.  
“She left a note for you lad… do you know how to read?” Kassil looked incredulously at the man. Did he know how to read? Honestly, who did this old man think he was? He was the future Lord Delcurte, of course he could read. Seeming to understand the message from Kassil’s expression he handed over the note and Kassil turned his eyes to it quickly.

The letter itself was written in what Kassil recognized as his mother’s thin, spidery script, which suggested that the stranger may be telling the truth about his mother having written it, although the writing seemed shakier than normal. He began to read through the contents of the letter in question.

Kassil,  
I am sorry that I can’t be with you right now, but there are some important things I need to take care of. I am leaving you in the care of your grandfather until I can return, please do what he asks you to, he will look after you. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but please just stay safe, I will come back for you as soon as I can, and know that I love you.  
Love from your mother, Mylene Delcurte.

Kassil was somewhat baffled by the contents of the letter, what did mother need to do? And why leave him here? Why couldn’t he stay at the manor, or if not that, why not with his grandparents? (Other grandparents he supposed, if mother’s letter was to be trusted). It all seemed very strange, he thought that maybe mother would explain it to him when she returned.

Kassil looked up again and met his grandfather’s brown eyed gaze. It looked oddly troubled.  
“Well, what did it say?” He urged softly. Kassil was somewhat taken aback, it seemed more and more unlikely that this man was some random thug based upon his actions. Surely a ruffian would have simply read mother’s letter to find out anything of use, unless they couldn’t read, Kassil didn’t think many peasants learned how. For now Kassil decided to trust mother’s letter and that this man really was her father.   
“She said she was leaving to do something important and that you will take care of me.”   
“Did she say anything else?” The man prompted.  
“She said she would be coming back, and to stay safe.” Kassil took a moment to ponder this.  
“Is there something dangerous that I need to stay safe from?” The old man let out a sigh and turned towards the pot in the fireplace.   
“I suppose she left that to me.” he mumbled to himself.  
“I’ll get you some food lad, bad news is easier to take on a full stomach.” He said, as if speaking from experience. Although Kassil was barely listening after the first half of the statement. He had been feeling ravenously hungry, and looked forward to a nice hot breakfast, some crisp bacon, toast with butter and honey, maybe some pastries after. 

He was sorely surprised then to see what looked like a bowl of lumpy beige-ish paste put in front of him. Kassil gave it a skeptical look before turning to his alleged “grandfather”.  
“What is this?” He asked, pointing to the mystery goo in front of him.  
“It’s porridge.” The man said slowly, as if baffled by the question, like it was ridiculous that Kassil didn’t frequently eat goop.   
“And where is breakfast?” Kassil asked equally slowly, the man seemed to have missed the point of his earlier question.  
“That is your breakfast lad, so you’d best eat before it goes fully cold.” He replied matter of factly. Kassil gave him a scandalized look before turning his attention to the so-called food. He scooped up some with the strange wooden carved spoon before carefully putting it in his mouth. It was one of the worst things Kassil had ever tasted, completely bland and unappetizing with a texture that was oddly somehow lumpy and thin at the same time, a rather disconcerting affect. He put down the spoon deliberately. His grandfather watched him with raised eyebrows. 

“That’s gross.” He said simply.  
“What?” The old man replied, a note of annoyed tension in his voice.  
“It’s gross, have the servants make something else, maybe some bacon, or pancakes.” Kassil elaborated with a dismissive wave of his hand. He jumped as his grandfather slammed his hand down onto the table.  
“Servants? What do you think this is boy? There are no paid workers here to do everything for you, and I’m not wasting my coin on decadent breakfasts for your pleasure! You’ll quickly need to get used to some changes if you want to stay here.” He had raised his voice in clear annoyance. Kassil couldn’t comprehend how the old man had gotten so worked up, he was hardly being unreasonable, but something struck him.  
“No servants? How do you do anything?” the very concept seemed absurd. His grandfather rubbed his face with his hand and muttered something under his breath.  
“Gods, lad you really are callow.” The old man said in an irritatingly condescending tone.  
“Don’t insult me!” Although he didn’t know what callow meant he was fairly sure it was not kind.  
“And my name’s not Lad, it’s Kassil Delcurte the Second.” He said haughtily.  
“Well Kassil Delcurte the Second, you are acting like a spoiled brat, and unless you start shaping up you’ll be sleeping out in the cold.” Kassil was rather taken aback, he had never been threatened with punishment in such a way, it was truly horrifying. 

As he was about to respond, a knock at the door broke through the argument. His grandfather rose to answer the door but quickly turned to him.  
“Do not cause any trouble with my guest.” He commanded sharply. Kassil of course would never do such a thing, he was taught proper manners unlike his brash peasant grandfather. No wonder mother had never taken him to meet the old man.

The man in question opened the door and Kassil could see a plump woman with short brown curly hair held in a kerchief through the open doorway.  
“Morning there Maclir,” she said with a friendly, albeit loud, voice.  
“I brought around some of my boys’ old clothes like you asked, though I still want to know why-“ she peered around the old man and caught sight of Kassil at the table.  
“Ooh, what a cute little boy, is he a relative of yours Maclir?” She asked and Kassil could see a slight tensing in his grandfather’s shoulders before he started talking.  
“Maggie, this is Kas-imir, Casimir was an old friend’s son, but she fell ill and couldn’t look after him, so she, sent him here for me to take care of.” he lied. Although Kassil was baffled about him getting his name wrong, but wary of his good manners, he let it pass. He rose and gave the woman a slight bow.  
“It is a pleasure to meet you madam, thank you for your kindness.” He said kindly, his grandfather, Maclir, looked befuddled out of Maggie’s line of sight.  
“Oh, and he’s so polite too, you take care of the boy Maclir, anyway I need to be off to get to the markets.” With that the woman quickly turned and left after handing the bundle of clothes to Maclir.

“Oh, thanks Maggie.” he said to her back. He returned to Kassil still looking a little confused.  
“So you do have some manners.” he said with some mirth, Kassil bristled.  
“Of course, Father taught me how to behave properly.” at this mention of his Father Kassil noticed the old man looking sour.  
“Why did you get my name wrong anyway?” He asked  
“That, Kassil, is what I was going to tell you before. Your mother was worried about some… bad people coming to hurt you, and so it’s best if people don’t know who you are.” Kassil was not very pleased at such a notion, he was of noble blood and deserved respect. Not to be thought to be the anonymous child of some friend of a cantankerous old man in the boondocks. He opened his mouth to protest but his grandfather beat him to it.  
“Please lad, your mother just wanted to keep you safe.” Kassil could hear a definite tone of melancholy in the statement, and his mother’s words “Please do what he asks” came back to him and he begrudgingly gave a nod to the old man.  
“Fine.” Seeming satisfied with his victory the old man tried to push it.  
“Now, will you eat breakfast?” Kassil didn’t even dignify such a ridiculous question with a response and simply turned away with a huff.  
“Fine, but you’ll regret it later.” The old man said with a knowing tone, which put Kassil ill at ease.


	5. Manhunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Delcurte's men are out in force searching for his missing family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, chapter 5. Nearly didn't get this one up on time, but I managed it in the end, so hooray. This is sort of a transitional chapter, setting up a lot of events to come, and it has perspective shifts (wow). As always I really encourage comments and feedback, I really like being able to talk to people about what they think of anything I write.

Mylene wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, turning it over she grimaced at the grime covering the back of it, three weeks of hiding in the woods had wreaked havoc on her. Her once elegant gown was tattered and filthy her hair was tangled and matted with dirt, she’d lost an alarming amount of weight and she felt a horrible discomfort from the dirt all over her body. At the same time however she felt a smug satisfaction at having avoided detection from her husband and his men for so long. 

Missie whinnied softly behind her and she straightened up turning to check her steed. The time in the wilderness had not been much kinder to the poor creature. So accustomed to luxury her mane and coat had lost their once distinctive luster and were tangled all over, she was also beginning to struggle supporting Mylene on even shorter flights of an hour or two. Even at her best Mylene would have doubted the pegasus’ ability to make a crossing over an ocean, at this point she was certain that such an attempt to escape Altea would end in drowning in the brine. Mylene rubbed the pegasus’ side and looked her up and down as she resumed grazing on the sparse grass visible at this early stage of winter.

“You’re a good girl, don’t fret, we’ll find some way to get away from here soon, and then I’ll buy you all the oats you can eat.” Missie was predictably silent in response, and Mylene gave a light laugh into the back of her hand, as always delicate and ladylike.  
“Oh dear, I really have gone off the deep end, talking to an animal.” 

She was just about ready to continue leading Missie on through the woods when she heard an out of place sound, the screech and clank of metal plates grinding against each other. She tried to turn towards the source of the sound but found it to be coming from six or seven directions all around her, she felt dread settle and take root in her gut, and then flourish when the first of the men wearing the Delcurte crest emblazoned on his chest stepped from the foliage. 

“Lady Delcurte, is that you? My Lady you do not look well.” The man was young, he had a naïve look of relief on his face. Mylene wondered what her husband had told his men before sending them off to chase her down. She regarded him warily as he approached her with his hands held out in a placating manner, as if she were some feral animal, she found the very thought distasteful and turned away from the man haughtily. Mylene slowly walked back towards Missie and some of the soldiers started to close in around her, she saw several unsavory looking men with them holding crossbows, she doubted they were under the illusion that she had gotten lost in the woods.

“My Lady we need to escort you back to the manor… your lord husband is very concerned for your safety.” The soldier from earlier said in a jittery voice. Mylene continued to ignore him and began to softly stroke Missie’s fur. The Pegasus turned its head towards her, the steed’s large brown eyes seeming to convey a sorrow of her own.   
“My Lady.” The young man began again, but was interrupted by the loud slap of Mylene striking Missie on the rear, the Pegasus let out a startled whinny before quickly taking wing, bashing through a few smaller branches and casting down some errant shafts of light on its way to escape the canopy. Mylene hoped Missie would escape safely, after all the help she’d been she deserved that much. 

After the pegasus’ flight some of the soldiers began to whisper amongst themselves, Mylene ignored them and continued to stare at the gap in the branches Missie had fled through. She heard the same young man from earlier, presumably the group’s spokesperson clear his throat once more and step forward.  
“Lady Delcurte, where… where is young Lord Kassil, we were told he would be with you…” Mylene turned and looked at the soldier before once more turning away, she would not give these men anything.

“Well, in that case, we will need you to return to the manor with us, I know this situation has caused you some distress, but do not worry my Lady we will get you to safety, and we will be sure to find your son as well.” The soldier walked over to her and placed what he assumed would be a comforting hand between Mylene’s shoulders as he led her towards the manor once more. As the other soldiers fell into step around her Mylene hoped desperately that they were wrong about finding Kassil.  
\--#--  
“Casimir, I need you to take that firewood I chopped yesterday to the inn.” Maclir had learned over the past few weeks that despite his general rudeness and high self-opinion that Casimir would normally fulfill chores and other tasks if asked directly, albeit with a large amount of complaint and moody sullenness during and after the task itself. Having him wash the bedsheets the previous day had led to hours of moaning.   
“But the wood is heavy.” The boy predictably complained loudly, the constant whining was really starting to become irritating, it was as if he had never had to do a chore in his life. Which as Maclir reflected on where he came from seemed to be a likely truth. Maclir sucked in a breath and rubbed his forehead.  
“It’s not too heavy for you move it, now hurry up.” The boy with a large amount of grumbling stood from the desk he was sitting at leaving behind a half-completed drawing and stomped across the room before slamming the door as he exited the cottage.

Maclir made his way to examine what Casimir had been working on this time, the boy had found a blank journal whilst rooting around in Maclir’s desk one day and commandeered it as a sort of sketchbook. Honestly Maclir was pleased to see him do something other than complain and sullenly sit in bed, brooding on, as he put it “the indignity of the situation for one of his station”. The drawings Casimir produced were usually of middling quality, childish drawings of animals, plants, some of the houses in the village, and a disturbingly large amount of Maclir himself being struck by lightning, falling in horse dung or being struck by some other unpleasant fate. The childish defiance was really becoming grating for the old man. Today however he noticed something different about the drawing, it was oddly geometric and precise, being contained within a large circle with several concentric rings and various designs filling in the blank spaces, the outermost ring had a flowing script running through it. Maclir puzzled over this for a moment, he could vaguely recall seeing such a design somewhere before but the exact location eluded him. 

A sharp knock upon the door startled him out of his reverie.  
“Hang on a minute, I’m coming!” He shouted towards the door as he replaced the book within the draw. He expected it to be Maggie, she had been finding any excuse she could to drop in since Casimir had come to live with Maclir, however upon opening the door he was not met with Maggie’s round jolly face but rather a man in full armour who looked at him with suspicious eyes.

“You are Sir Maclir?” The stranger asked.  
“That’s right, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.” Maclir deadpanned in response. Although he knew there was one likely reason an armed and armoured man, who, upon closer inspection, was wearing the Delcurte crest, would come to see him.   
“I am under the authority of Lorde Waldemar Delcurte, who is searching for his son, it is believed that the Lady Mylene Delcurte, your daughter absconded with him in the night and has hidden him for possible nefarious purposes. Of course all of Lord Delcurte’s most trusted and capable soldiers were sent to locate the boy.” Maclir thought that a man stupid enough to spout off that his Liege Lord’s son was missing was hardly a trusted and capable individual, but he kept that to himself, instead plastering a fake look of shock and surprise on his face.  
“Mylene had a Son?” He asked with what he hoped sounded like genuine amazement.  
“You, you were not aware sir?” The soldier seemed taken aback at this. And Maclir huffed a bitter laugh  
“Damn girl ran off nearly a decade ago with her Lord Husband and hasn’t contacted me since, ungrateful to the last that one, you look young, never have children, they do nothing but disappoint you.” The soldier looked increasingly confused and concerned.  
“Well, regardless, there is suspicion that the boy may be hidden here and I need to search the building to make sure he is not.” The man continued on, pushing through Maclir’s determent. Maclir gave a shrug in response, thankful for the serendipity that had led to him sending out Casimir when the search party came, the boy would likely trade safety for immediate creature comforts and Maclir had a promise to keep. 

The Soldier entered the house, his dull grey helmet swiveling as he took in the surroundings of the meager main room of the house. Seeing nothing he proceeded to the doors leading to the bedrooms, slamming one, then the other open, seeing nothing but some newly made beds and basic furniture.  
“So you live out here by yourself Sir?” the soldier asked with faked innocence in his voice, Maclir became wary of where this conversation was going.  
“Yes, that’s right” He replied shortly.  
“Then why, are both beds freshly made!?” the Soldier pointed an accusing finger at Maclir, and the old knight swallowed down his nervousness.  
“I have many old friends from my days in the Knighthood who drop in from time to time, I like to keep the place ready in case they decide to visit.” He replied gruffly. The soldier deflated at the response.  
“Oh, that, that actually makes sense.” A definite sense of melancholy was held in the statement, the man was genuinely upset that he hadn’t caught Maclir in an act of deviousness, and the older man laughed inwardly at this. 

The Soldier led Maclir back towards the entrance of the cottage.  
“Very well Sir Maclir, it seems that the child really is not here, but I urge you, if you see anything of the boy please hold onto him and contact Lord Delcurte, you will be handsomely rewarded for compliance.” Maclir wondered how the man expected him to identify a child he had supposedly never seen, but based on his previous actions he doubted he was the sharpest arrow in the quiver. 

As the Soldier began to open the door to leave a thought occurred to Maclir.  
“Excuse me, but where were you planning to stay tonight?” He asked idly.  
“I assumed this village would have a traveler’s inn, am I mistaken?” The soldier replied.  
“Oh no, there’s one, you probably don’t want to use it though, the beds are flea ridden and the ale is watered down piss, much better to go on to the next town, the inn there is much nicer. If you take the mountain path you’ll get there in a few hours travel.” The soldier assented to this plan and Maclir took him out, carefully leading him away from the town and towards the forest, pointing out the path for him.   
As the soldier left down the path, Maclir shouted after him.  
“And if you see my ungrateful daughter, tell her to not bother visiting, I don’t need people who abandon their own kin in my life”. 

Maclir returned to the cottage and as he began work on dinner he sincerely hoped that there wouldn’t be more people coming to search for his grandson, and that he had done enough to throw that moronic soldier off of the trail he had unwittingly nearly stumbled onto.


	6. Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of the Delcurtes' actions come back to bite them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nooooooo, I got this chapter out just past midnight, now I am gonna turn into a pumpkin, or something. Anyway fun chapter for me to write because it has more Gharnef, he's great, he writes himself (the dastard!). As always please leave a comment if you enjoy or want to ask me about or talk about anything.

597 Archanean Calendar

“Mylene, please.” Waldemar held his wife’s hand in his own, trying to rub reassuring circles on the back of her hand. Mylene promptly snatched it back and sneered at him as if he were a pebble in her shoe.   
“Mylene, he will be here soon, I cannot guarantee your safety if you don’t tell me where Kassil is. Please, I know you’re worried but, if you don’t stop this then… please.” Waldemar could hear the desperation in his own voice but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Two months. It had been two months since his men had successfully brought in his wife, at first he had been overjoyed, with Mylene and Kassil returned his deal with Gharnef would be secure once more. However when she was brought back there was no sign of his son. Mylene had looked like a feral thing all ragged and filthy, her dress torn and hair tangled, yet she was totally silent, and as such she remained. Every day Waldemar had spent hours with her, pleading, persuading, bargaining, begging, all to try and get her to reveal where their son had been hidden. Despite once more being perfumed, elegant and refined her answer remained the same, stony silence meeting each of Waldemar’s gestures.

“Mylene, this man will get what he wants one way or the other, all we can do is try and co-operate, to look after as many people as we can.” Mylene ignored him once more. She rose from her chair to approach the fire in the drawing room, which was casting a warm glow yet doing nothing to dispell the disturbing chill present in the air.   
“He wouldn’t hurt Kassil.” Waldemar tried to reason with Mylene, knowing his own words to be false.  
“He wants him as an apprentice, he sees value in him, he wouldn’t.” Mylene’s silence was an apt answer to his claims.

There was a quiet knock at the door.

“Mylene, please, there are times when sacrifices need to be made.” Desperation was oozing through every word.

The knock repeated itself

“Mylene, this is our last chance, just tell me where Kassil is.” Mylene turned from the fire and looked at Waldemar, her eyes filled with pity. Waldemar felt a sharp pain in his chest.  
“Fine, but you’ve chosen this, don’t blame me.”

The knock repeated once more.

“Come in.” Waldemar called to the door. The stained wood shifted as the door swung on well-oiled hinges and one of the servants poked her head in.  
“S-sir, your guest is here, he, wants to speak with you.” Waldemar experienced a pang of deja-vu at the sound of Amy’s voice announcing the one person he most dreaded and most needed to meet with.   
“Thank you Amy.” He replied, affecting a calm front.  
“He is waiting in the foyer… if it pleases your lordship I shall take you to him.” From her apprehension Waldemar could guess that the prospect of meeting with Gharnef again most certainly did not please her. Although he could hardly blame the young woman for such an opinion.  
“No, Amy, I shall be fine, I will proceed to the foyer post haste.” 

The foyer was dim at this time of day, the only light coming from a scattered candles and what moonlight entered from the windows above the front door to the manor. Gharnef seemed to meld and shift with the shadows themselves as he stood contemplating a landscape portrait hanging on the wall, his lips were drawn in a thin line of displeasure. 

“Delcurte, it’s poor manners to keep me waiting.” The Pontifex critiqued, pivoting and fixing Waldemar with his threatening gaze.  
“My apologies, Pontifex, but there were some matters I had to attend to.” Gharnef narrowed his eyes slightly.  
“Well, if you would make some haste Delcurte, go fetch your boy, I wish to leave and there are other matters I must attend to.”  
“Yes, my son, well Gharnef, there has been a complication on that front.” Waldemar paled as Gharnef began to pin him under his glare. Despite the man’s slightly shorter stature his presence loomed over the Altean Lord.   
“I hope for your sake Delcurte that you are not backing out of our arrangement.” Gharnef stroked the tome holstered at his side with long bony fingers.  
“Because that would be most unwise”  
“No, no, I am certainly not backing out, there is just a minor complication with Kassil. You see, he has… gone missing.” Waldemar responded uneasily.  
“Well, I suggest for your sake, you have some means of finding him,” the pontifex ground out.  
“Otherwise, I am afraid your position will become rather precarious, it is not a good idea to fail fulfilling a deal with me and my master.” Waldemar swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, the underlying threat in the Pontifex’s words chilling him to his core.  
“Well, we have caught the perpetrator, my wife, Mylene, she made off with him in the night a few months ago. We found her, but Kassil was not with her, she has refused to speak since then.”   
“Has she told anyone of our plans then?” Gharnef questioned softly, rage barely concealed.  
“I don’t believe so, there has been no investigation from the crown, so I believe our secrets are safe.” Waldemar placated and Gharnef seemed to calm a little.  
“Well then, I am sure I will be able to find out where she has hidden my apprentice.” Gharnef gave one of his ugly smiles. Waldemar never thought it would be a relief to see such an expression, but after the glowering threats the sorcerer had expressed he found himself proved wrong.   
“Now if you would be so kind as to lead me to where the criminal is stowed, I will begin my questioning.” Waldemar’s relief melted like snow in the sun. The man’s delight at the prospect of questioning his wife was concerning. Yet he knew he had no power to stop the sorcerer in any case. He capitulated with a small bow, leading Gharnef out of the foyer and into the drawing room. 

Upon opening the door he looked to Gharnef and saw an ugly sneer cross his face. Waldemar wondered whether that was the man’s default response to any new environ or if it was merely reserved to condescend upon his property.   
“She is in here, Pontifex.” Waldemar whispered, barely a mumble. The statement was hardly needed for his wife still stood before the fireplace, her silhouette outlined against the dancing flames. Waldemar shrank against the door flame as Gharnef stalked forward into the room towards his wife.  
“Lady Delcurte, it seems you have been an inconvenience for me.” Gharnef said slowly as he walked around her like a circling vulture. Mylene of course offered no response.  
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, an apology perhaps, I am not an unreasonable man, I am sure we can iron out this little grievance if you are willing to make the correct… repatriations.” Gharnef directed one of his nasty grins at Mylene and Waldemar felt sick to his stomach. Presumably so did Mylene as she turned hurriedly away from the Pontifex. Gharnef’s smile faded and was replaced by fury.   
“It is very rude, to ignore your betters!” As Gharnef roared this the air in the room grew tighter and heavie. A circle of deep purple light materialized around Gharnef’s feet as he grabbed hold of his tome and Mylene fell to the ground shrieking as some sort of dark energy surrounded her.  
“Mylene!” Her name was ripped from Waldemar’s throat as he saw the woman he loved fall to the ground.  
“Hold” Gharnef commanded, and under the force of his gaze Waldemar found himself powerless to move. 

The dark energy shortly cleared and Mylene tried and failed to push herself up on violently shaking arms, sobs escaping from her mouth as she fell back to floor. Gharnef loomed over her and raised her chin with one hand, the other still delicately stroking the spine of his tome.  
“Now Lady Delcurte, perhaps you will be more polite in your response, where did you hide my apprentice.” Gharnef murmured darkly.   
“He’s not… your apprentice.” Mylene struggled out between laboured breaths, this elicited a maniacal laugh from the sorcerer.  
“Oh, I think you’ll find that he is, your husband filled out all the documentations and contracts, yes, your boy will be quite useful to me.” Gharnef gloated over her. However this time Mylene let out a chuckle, though it was a mirthless one.  
“No… he won’t.” She replied, Waldemar shivered at her tone. It seemed to closely to match his own grim resolution when he first signed the deals with Gharnef.  
“What did you say?” Gharnef questioned quietly, his eyes grown wide.  
“Not unless you can train a corpse in sorcery.” she finished quietly. Waldemar lost his breath and found himself frozen, Kassil was… dead.   
“Why?” He didn’t realized he had spoken until Mylene turned her hate filled eyes on him.   
“Because a clean death is better than what that man would do to him.” she stopped and struggled through a few more breaths.   
“That night I left, I smothered Kassil with a pillow. And I dropped his body in the ocean” 

Gharnef let out a roar of frustration, and some incomprehensible words echoed through the room before a blast of necrotic wind flung Mylene into the far wall where she fell and lay unmoving.  
“NO!” Waldemar screamed and hurried over to his wife. He knelt and grasped her wrist trying to discern a heartbeat, yet there was nothing to be felt. Being overtaken by violent shivering he turned to look at Gharnef, who merely looked disgruntled.  
“You… you killed her” Lord Delcurte said numbly.  
“Death is a fair punishment for murder” Gharnef shrugged his shoulders.  
“Besides, she directly interfered with my plans.” Waldemar just clutched his wife’s body to his chest. He could hear Gharnef walking behind him.  
“Oh, and Delcurte, you can forget governance of Altea. You couldn’t hold onto a single child, I hardly think you are capable of looking after a country. Of course, I am a generous man” Waldemar could feel the man’s ugly smile.   
“If you fulfill your other promises I will allow you to preside in your same station in the new order to come” 

Waldemar hardly cared, he could barely even remember why he had begun working with this man in the first place. He looked down and could see Mylene’s face. There was no mark or sign of trauma, she looked almost peaceful. Magic left such clean corpses, he wondered if the impersonality of it was what let Gharnef kill so easily.   
“But my wife… my son” Waldemar turned to face Gharnef, aware of the tears now running down his face and into his beard. He could see the clear disgust on the face of the Dark Pontifex as he sneered.  
“You can have more.” With that Gharnef pivoted and walked out of the room, Waldemar heard the entry door open and close a moment later, but it all seemed distant somehow as he held Mylene in his arms. He tried to grasp onto one of her hands at some point, but he found it had already gone cold.


	7. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassil goes to town to have an axe fixed, and learns a thing or two about gossip whilst there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody, here's your regularly scheduled update of Growth of a Shadow, no pumpkin time for me today! Woot! I've noticed based on number of views that the fic has picked up a few more readers, which makes me really happy, glad to know people are enjoying stuff I write. I hope everyone likes this chapter, I had a good time writing it and I think it turned out pretty well. As always please feel free to comment or kudos or what have you. I would love some feedback. Enjoy!

“Stupid axe.” Kassil mumbled sullenly as he kicked a pebble. How was he supposed to know that it broke if you twisted the handle wrong? What sort of worthless axe was it anyway? And now he had to spend his afternoon taking the dumb thing into town to get it fixed. Kassil groaned aloud again, he could be back at the cabin finishing his transcription of the circle from the book in the manor, his tutors said to practice and he was not going to be falling behind on his studies. 

Kassil found himself wishing that his mother would hurry up and take him back home already. It had been three months, winter had passed into spring and he was certain that she and father should have been able to deal with whatever “important things” she mentioned in her note by now. Yet here he was, future Lord Delcurte stumbling along a dirt country road carrying a stupidly heavy axe and sweating in the heat like a peasant. Kassil grumbled and blew some of his hair out of his eyes as a damp curtain of purple covered them. 

It simply wasn’t fair, why did his grandfather torture him like this? He had developed calluses from the manual labour, CALLUSES! A man on a horse galloped past and splashed through a puddle of mud from yesterday’s rainshower. Kassil stumpled and tripped over at the sudden splash of wetness, dropping the axe and landing solidly on his bottom. Kassil groaned and let out a few words he had heard father use when he got particularly angry, which had a strangely cathartic effect on his state and helped calm him slightly. 

He inspected the roughspun clothes he was clad in and noticed that the front was splattered with mud now. Turning around he also spotted a large splatter now on the back of his trousers, he desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes. Yet another thing to lament in living with bumpkin relation was the lack of proper hygiene. He found himself constantly filthy and he had to wash from a basin. He stood up and sighed dreamily as he thought back to the smooth marble tub in the manor, of nice warm baths and servants who would do all the chores, including carrying stupid axes. As he thought this Kassil gave the axe a hearty kick, but felt a sharp pain in his toes for his efforts causing him to hop around comically for a few seconds. He felt suddenly glad that the man on the horse sped off so quickly so there was no one around to see him looking so foolish. Once his toe stopped hurting so much he picked up the axe once more and continued his moody trudging towards town.  
\--#--  
As Kassil pushed open the door to the smith he was met with a cheery ring at direct odds to his mood. He sent the insolent bell a glare for daring to be at odds with his stormy feelings. After he felt the bell had been sufficiently glared at he directed his gaze to the rest of the shop. The smithy itself was uncomfortably warm, clearly from the blazing furnace he could see in the back room of the building, from which a rhythmic clanging was sounding. The building itself was constructed of heavy and soot stained stone, he appeared to currently be the only customer in the building at the time. Finally something to be thankful for, he wouldn’t have to stay in this accursedly hot building any longer than necessary. 

Kassil approached the counter but saw that there was no one currently behind it, he peered over the top and examined the wooden surface and grew instantly more annoyed at what he saw. Another bell and a note saying “ring for service”, reluctantly he picked up the bell and gave it a jerky ring, grimacing at the clear metallic clang, it too sounded obnoxiously happy. 

A few moments later a large man with wild black hair wearing a thick leather apron and gloves emerged from the back room. He too looked way too upbeat with a goofy smile on his face even on a day as terrible as this (honestly living such a life Kassil was baffled any of the peasantry ever managed to be happy about anything, he certainly hadn’t since he came to Sera) the man stepped behind the counter.  
“Hello and welcome to- woah kid, you alright there?” The cheerful man took a slight step back at the glower on Kassil’s face.   
“I’m fine.” Kassil grumbled in response, the man didn’t seem overly convinced but forced his cheerful smile back on anyway.  
“Well… uh, what can we help you with this fine day young man?” He said, managing to recover his composure. In response Kassil struggled to heft the axe up to the counter top.   
“It’s broken.” he said, point to the sharp bend and warp in the handle of the axe.   
“Yeah, it really is,” the man replied, “how did it even get in this state?” he queried. Kassil crossed his arms defensively.   
“Not my fault that it gets bent if you twist it wrong.” the man looked agape at Kassil before letting out a raucous laugh, Kassil felt his face heat in response.  
“Kid you are a riot, okay I’ll fix it up, may take a few days to get around to so I’ll need a name for the order.” the man explained.  
“Casimir.” Kassil responded, he felt strange at how easy it was getting to lie about his name.  
“Oh you’re the kid Maclir is looking after, he’s a real great man. Did you know he used to be one of the most celebrated knights in the kingdom?” The smith commented. This fact honestly took Kassil a bit aback, how could his grandfather have been a knight? He was as far from chivalrous as you could get, making a nobleman run his errands for him.  
“Okay Casimir.” the smith continued, scribbling something down on a piece of paper in front of him.  
“The handle’s busted and needs to be replaced, but the blade is still fine luckily, so looks like that will be seventy gold.” still somewhat dumbfounded by the news of his grandfather Kassil absently poured out some coins from the pouch his grandfather had given him, and handed them to the smith.  
“Okay, that should sort everything out,” the smith said counting out the coins “come back in three or four days, it should be done by then.” He then retreated to the back room and a short while later the rhythmic clanging resumed, startling Kassil out of his stupor and he made his way to scurry out of the smithy.

Blinking in the bright midday sunlight Kassil started to make his way across the town square when a nearby discussion caught his attention.  
“Such a dreadful shame about Lord Delcurte.” Father? Something had happened to him? Kassil quickly sidled out of the main walkway and leaned against a building casually eavesdropping on a pair of women eating lunch at a nearby bench, Kassil recognized one as Maggie. The other was a slightly older woman with distinctly pointed features.   
“Such a tragedy,” Maggie agreed with a gloomy tone to her voice “to think that his own wife would do such a thing, completely unthinkable.” She shook her head brown curls flapping. Mother had done something? What was going on? Kassil decided to stop trying to listen in for his information and take a more direct route. Trying to smother his worry he plastered a sweet smile to his face and approached Maggie and her friend, upon approaching them he gave them both a short courteous bow, which elicited delighted chuckles from both the women. 

“Casimir, what a nice surprise, what are you doing here in town?” Maggie said with her usual cheerfulness.  
“I was taking an axe to be fixed for G-Maclir.” Kassil quickly corrected his verbal stumble.  
“Oh, well I hope he’s not working you too hard.” he most certainly was but Kassil decided that now was not the time to be bringing up such issues.   
“Miss Maggie, if I might ask, what were you two discussing about Lord Delcurte?” Maggie looked at him quizzically.  
“Young man, were you listening to other people’s conversations?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Kassil shuffled his feet and looked down at them.  
“Well, maybe just a little.” He bashfully responded.   
“That is not good behaviour.” Maggie lectured, waggling her pointer finger at him. Shortly afterwards she was back to smiling though as she leaned in conspiratorily.   
“But it is the best way to pick up good gossip.” she then threw her head back with a raucous laugh.  
“Mind you, for this piece of news we didn’t need to eavesdrop, you see Ruth and I,” she indicated the woman next to her. “We were doing some morning shopping, normal as any day you like it, but then, a man on a horse, all fancy dressed like. He raced into town. And you know what he said?” Kassil shook his head and stared at Maggie wide eyed.  
“Well he said that he came from Delcurte Manor, and that Lady Delcurte herself had been executed.” Kassil’s mind went blank.  
“What?” he breathed hollowly  
“Executed! Turns out she did in their son, she was having some delusions or something.” Maggie let out a sigh   
“Poor Lord Delcurte, he’s lost his wife and son in the one day.”  
“But she didn’t do that!” Kassil shouted, forgetting where he was for a moment. Maggie looked shocked for a moment before sympathy appeared on his features.  
“I know she’s Maclir’s daughter, and he’s probably told you lots of lovely things about her, I remember when she was a little girl too, such a sweet thing. But sometimes people go odd in the head, and they do all sorts of strange things.” Kassil, stepped back. He didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want to be listening to some woman gossiping about his mother, saying she was… He felt burning hot and freezing at the same time, the clashing emotions confusing him and causing fat tears to run down his cheeks and his nose to run furiously. He turned and sprinted out of town, with Maggie’s confused cries echoing behind him. 

Kassil didn’t listen he just kept running, the clacking of his shoes on the cobblestones soon turned to a thumping and occasional squelch as he moved onto the dirt road leading towards his grandfather’s cottage. His lungs burnt and his eyes stung as he ran, occasionally doubling over and panting for breath before continuing his mad dash he eventually came to the paddock surrounding the cottage, a few sheep turned their heads up slowly giving him an uninterested stare before resuming their grazing. 

Kassil stormed over the verandah and flung open the door to the cottage. Inside he could see his grandfather sitting in the dim light next to the table. He had a bottle held loosely in one hand and he twirled it slowly, eyes transfixed on its glassy surface. He didn’t even look up upon hearing Kassil open the door. A nasty sneer crossed Kassil’s face.  
“What happened?” He growled lowly.  
“So you’ve heard then?” Maclir responded, his voice sounding oddly hoarse. Kassil stomped his foot.  
“Why are people lying, what’s happening!?” The old knight let out a breath and finally looked at Kassil. He noticed that the man’s eyes looked bloodshot and he appeared to have aged a decade since the morning.   
“Your _Lord Father_ ,” he started, with heavy sarcasm seeping through “claimed your mother killed you, and had her put to death.” Kassil felt the coldness leave him, and the burning heat take over. His grandfather knew, and he was talking about it like none of it mattered, just sitting here in the dark and not trying to do anything!  
“WHY!?” Kassil shouted, glaring at his grandfather who continued to just sit there. The old man just gave him a dejected shrug in response.   
“Why didn’t you do anything!? The people in town say you were a great knight, so why can’t you do anything!? Why couldn’t you go and save her, and… and…” Kassil doubled over sobbing violently, wanting to scream and fall apart at the same time, eventually settling on the former.   
“You’re just a useless old man, you can’t do anything! You let mother die! This is all your fault!” Kassil could barely see through the haze of his tears but he heard clearly the chair his grandfather was sitting on scrape back and saw the man’s silhouette rise.  
“And what did you do boy!? Do you think you’re the only one who cared about her?” Kassil didn’t want to hear Maclir defend his own inaction. He charged at the old man and started to punch him repeatedly, not that the old knight seemed to notice.   
“I HATE YOU. I Hate you. I hate…. I … I” Kassil found himself breaking down again, constantly trying to hit the old man but finding his thoughts and words to be eluding him. Eventually he felt a pair of strong arms encircling him, he tried to shake them off but to no avail.  
“I hate you” he continued quietly as he kept softly punching his grandfather in the side, but he no longer knew who he was really talking to.


	8. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Mylene's death Casimir begins to walk down a new path to his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, really early posting this one today, I am proud of myself. A lot happens in this chapter and I am slightly concerned it may seem a little rushed. Still I hope everything comes across clearly and that everyone enjoys it. As always please leave some feedback if you'd like to discuss anything, I would be happy to talk about peoples' thoughts.

Maclir watched as Casimir swept the verandah. Long gone were the days where the boy would complain and moan about every mundane task that was asked of him, now he just went about his days with a dull acceptance. It had been six months since Mylene had died but Maclir had noticed no improvement in the boy since then. After his initial outburst he had sunk into a state of steady melancholy.

Maclir sighed and ran a hand down his face. He had been patient in the hopes that Casimir may start to improve with time, but that seemed unlikely at this stage. He wouldn’t let his grandson, who his daughter had died to protect just fade away. Maclir made his way with determined strides around to a small storage shed behind the cottage, upon reaching it quickly opened the door and entered its dusty interior. It only took a few minutes of searching for him to find what he was looking for, withdrawing two wooden objects from a nearby crate he set off back towards the verandah.   
\--#--   
Casimir moved the broom back and forth across the wooden verandah of the cottage, the repetitive motion was beginning to cause a dull pain in his arms but he continued on nevertheless, feeling oddly detached from the action, although most things left him feeling detached. Since mother’s death he had given up any hopes of returning home, father believed him dead, and even if he didn’t, he killed mother. Casimir felt a spark of rage ignite within him but he quickly smothered it in the same emptiness he was feeling most of the time. 

A loud clack drew him out of his introspection and he turned around to see a tubular wooden object sitting on the verandah. It reminded him of the toy wooden sword he had owned back at the manner, except a bit larger. He looked up from the object to see his grandfather standing nearby with an expectant look on his face, Casimir pointed to the object in question.  
“Do you want me to clean that?” He said dully, Maclir pulled a face trying to stifle a laugh before replying.  
“No, pick it up and come with me.” 

Somewhat intrigued Casimir picked up the sword as he was told and began to follow his grandfather into the paddock, who shooed away a few chickens that were scratching nearby before turning back to Casimir. Only now did Casimir notice that the old man had one of the wooden swords himself, which he hefted easily and used to indicate at the one Casimir was still holding.   
“Hit me.” the man commanded, Casimir raised a brow.  
“Why?”   
“After Mylene died you said you hated me, so try and hit me, it might help.” Casimir was confused as to how this would help, punching the old man hadn’t made him feel any better in the end so he doubted a piece of wood would make a difference, but he mentally shrugged, there was no point in arguing.

Casimir lifted his sword with some effort, the thing felt heavier than expected, and made a two handed swing at Maclir, the old man simply stepped back.  
“Pathetic, try again” he criticised gruffly. Casimir gripped the sword tighter and made another swing, this time he missed completely without Maclir moving at all. The old man simply gave him a quizzical condescending look which started to rile him up. So Casimir ran closer and tried to swing again, resulting in another smooth backstep from his grandfather. Again and again he swung getting increasingly annoyed by the old man’s nonchalance, now he was shouting and grunting as he swung at his grandfather who was always just out of reach. After a short while he began to sweat heavily and became short of breath, his swings became wilder with his grandfather barely having to react at all, so poor was his aim. Until as one of his strikes was finally about to connect Maclir quickly flicked his own trainer to intercept Casimir’s. The unexpected resistance tripped the boy up and he quickly found himself falling into a pile on the grass, he looked up angrily at Maclir who was now smiling slightly in response. 

“So Casimir, how do you feel?” He asked. Casimir bristled as if the old man couldn’t see how he felt.  
“I feel angry! How do you think I feel when you tell me to hit you, and then keep moving!?” Casimir shouted back.   
“Good.”   
“How is this good!?” Casimir responded furiously.   
“Because you can still feel something.” That caught Casimir up, it had been months since he had felt any emotion so strongly. He hung his head as the floodgates of the feelings he had been bottling broke, and the sting of loss pierced through him. Suddenly his grandfather was crouching in front of him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Casimir’s Hazel eyes met Maclir’s deep brown.   
“I know it hurts lad, but you can’t heal if you don’t let it out.” he said quietly, voice burdened with pain.   
“But I don’t want it to hurt.” He softly replied.   
“Well, it’s going to one way or the other. But you can do something with it.” The old knight consoled. Casimir focused on him intently, waiting for him to finish.  
“Let your hurt encourage you, make it a motivation to improve things.”   
“What do you mean?” Casimir didn’t quite understand how the pain he was feeling could motivate him. It felt more paralyzing than anything else.  
“Make it a resolution, make sure that the cruel and unjust people of the world don’t get to hurt the innocent.” Maclir firmly replied.  
“But, I can’t fight, I can’t stop cruel and unjust people from doing anything.” the old man smirked at him.  
“Maybe not yet, but as you know, I was a great knight once, and I could teach you the same, if you’re willing Casimir I can help you get stronger. The road will not be easy, but if you work hard you could be a knight one day yourself and defend the Altean innocent from those who want to hurt them.” Casimir pictured himself for a moment, not as he was but as a grown man. A great hero who could strike down evil with a shining blade, he could save everyone, stop any more suffering, he could stop his father. Before he realized it he was nodding firmly and his grandfather had a great grin adorning his face. Casimir didn’t think he had ever seen the old man look at him with pride but he felt like he wanted to earn it again.   
“Okay then Casimir, we’d best get started, that first go gave us a baseline and it’s all up from there. So first we need to work on your grip, when you position your hand…” As Maclir explained the basics of swordplay Casimir felt the first fiery seeds of purpose begin to sprout within him, filling the void that had been there for months.   
\--#--  
“Overhead, rising, overhead, turning, turning, thrust” Maclir ran a hand down his face as Casimir bungled the set of cuts he called out, trainer scraping awkwardly on the training dummy and in the case of two of the cuts missing altogether. Two months of training had barely made any change in his grandson’s technique. He struggled to execute even basic sword forms and had a nasty habit of completely missing even stationary targets, never mind when Maclir tried to spar with him. The boy had managed to pick up the proper footwork without much difficulty, and yet his use of the wooden sword was clumsy and awkward.

Maclir could recognize the source of his awkwardness with the blade as being sourced from Casimir obsessing over how he handled his weapon. Each time he swung the sword Maclir could see his rounded features scrunch a littles, purple eyebrows furrowed as he focused intently on the blade. With such a focus on the technical aspects of swordplay Maclir doubted the boy would ever become truly skilled. To master the sword you needed to let your arms move on instinct, to flow with the weight of the weapon, not constantly scrutinize your own actions. Without letting instinct and muscle memory play a part, the blending of the conscious and unconscious there was only so far Casimir could go, and unfortunately that would stop far short of the level required of a knight.

“Casimir, try the set again, this time concentrate less on the strikes, let your muscle memory guide you, focus on bringing them into sequence.” Maclir watched as Casimir nodded and once again fell into his bumbling rendition of the sequence, halfway through Maclir called out.   
“No, no, you need to feel it, stop focusing so much!” Casimir let out an annoyed groan.  
“I’m trying to ‘feel it’, but it just doesn’t work!” the boy retorted angrily before diving back into the pattern. Maclir let out another sigh, Casimir had proved determined in his attempts to master the sword, despite lack of progress, yet he had not been the best at listening. 

Examining his grandson’s face as he worked through the set once more Maclir noticed something peculiar, Casimir was scrunching his face in concentration as normal but he noticed the boy was in particular squinting his left eye. Focusing on this Maclir noticed this reaction largely coincided with the boy’s missed strikes, getting an idea Maclir crossed the distance separating them.  
“Hold on a moment there lad” he said firmly.  
“Uuuurgh, what is it? I thought you wanted me to practice” came the petulant reply. Maclir gave Casimir a stern look to show his attitude was not appreciated, eventually forcing a penitent look onto the boy’s face. 

“Try doing the series again, but this time with your left eye closed.” Maclir commanded, Casimir looked baffled at the seemingly odd request.  
“What?”   
“Just try it with your left eye closed.” Maclir repeated. Casimir gave him a dubious look but eventually acquiesced to his grandfather’s request. Maclir noticed a slight improvement in the accuracy and confidence of the boy’s strikes this time, likely not enough for Casimir to pick up on himself, but to trained veteran the difference was as clear as day.   
“Okay this time, try the series with your right eye closed” Maclir commanded after Casimir finished the set. This time the difference would have been clear to even an amateur, every strike was either weak, sloppy or missed altogether.   
“That set was quite poor.” He commented to which Casimir let out a frustrated huff and glared at him.  
“Well, it’s not my fault, the dummy just looked all blurry and it was hard to focus.” he replied angrily, confirming Maclir’s suspicions.   
“Casimir, does everything look blurry through your left eye?” He asked softly, Casimir seemed a little confused by this change in focus.  
“Well, yeah, mostly, but not when am trying to read or have it close to my face, then it’s fine.” The child explained.   
“Aye, I thought so, I think that your left eye may not work quite right, maybe this is what’s causing you to struggle with the sword so much.” Maclir speculated.  
“So, if we fix my eye, then I will be better able to use a sword.” Casimir responded excitedly at the possible solution to his struggles.   
“Well, it’s a definite possibility. I have a friend in the capital who may be able to help us out, but in the meantime we will continue your training, maybe with more focus on building stamina in the meantime.” Maclir speculated.  
“Casimir, give me five laps of the paddock.” He snapped out, Casimir let out a groan, his earlier excitement already dissipating.   
\--#--   
Casimir dubiously eyed the small piece on glass in his hand.  
“Are you sure this is right grandfather?” he asked, turning the small lens over.  
“Yes Casimir, this should definitely help with your vision, I told Rufus about your eyes and he said this would help.” Casimir was still skeptical, the old man may have claimed his friend Rufus was a skilled eyepiece maker, but…  
“Why is there only one lens, shouldn’t he have sent a pair of glasses?”   
“Well, you only have one eye with a problem, so you don’t need a pair of glasses.” Maclir replied concretely.   
“Now, try putting it on.” Maclir prompted. Deciding that there was no real harm, Casimir raised his brow and rested the monocle above his cheekbone before promptly lowering the brow and snugly securing the eyepiece in place. With both eyes open the difference was subtle, yet he found himself slightly able to place himself better in the room, moving about and touching the desk and the hearth wall he found the distance to be solid and less misleading than I the past. When he closed his right eye the difference was far more pronounced, objects that were once blurred and out of focus appeared to him in perfect clarity. He continued experimenting for a few minutes before Maclir cleared his throat.  
“So lad, does it work?” Casimir found himself smiling as he turned back to his grandfather, he simply gave the old man a satisfied nod.   
“Alright, let’s try it out on the training field then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Casimir has a monocle. When creating the character I put it on for giggles, and then decided to keep it. I wanted to justify it in my story so he is nearsighted in his left eye which messes with his depth perception. If any of the information is wrong I am sorry, I am not an optometrist and I have no vision problems myself so my understanding is limited to some basic google research. (FYI the monocle leads to Luke giving MU the title of "The Wise").


	9. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a year and a half since Casimir began his training towards knighthood and training is slow, however he discovers something that may just help him become a knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go, chapter nine. Some developments for characters in this chapter and the promise of more to come. As always if there is anything you would like to talk about or ask please let me know in the comments, I would love to discuss stuff.

599 Archanean Calendar  
A stinging pain went through Casimir’s shoulder as he thudded into the dirt, trainer falling from his hand. He hissed sharply at the pain, opening his eyes he noticed a blurriness indicating that his monocle had once again fallen off, he searched around on the grass surrounding him, but found it bare. 

“Ahem.” Casimir turned back towards his grandfather who had his hand extended towards Casimir, holding his monocle. Casimir quickly took the eyepiece and replaced it on his face, reexamining his grandfather he saw the look of pity on the old man’s face and felt a sting.   
“Come on lad, that’s enough for today, it’s getting late.” Casimir may have recognized that it was indeed close to sunset. But he needed to keep going. Progress with the sword seemed impossible, if anything he would guess that he was actually becoming worse. At the rate he was going Casimir feared he would never have the necessary skills to become a knight.   
“No, another round.” he pleaded with a determined shake of his head. Maclir’s face went from kind pity to annoyance in a flash.  
“You need to learn your limits.” he jabbed a finger at Casimir to punctuate his words.  
“I’ve knocked you down dozens of times today, one more won’t make a difference, not when you’re working with frustration alone.” Casimir merely scowled in response.  
“Lad, don’t act like you know better than me on this, I’ve trained dozens of knights before. And as much as you need to push yourself you also need to learn when to stop.” From his half seated position Casimir’s fists clenched around clumps of grass shredding them from the ground. The old man was giving up, it was all so easy for him, Casimir doubted the sword ever felt like a clumsy stick for his grandfather. Yet a year and a half of training still left the weapon feeling completely unnatural in the boy’s hand. 

Maclir straightened up and sighed softly.  
“Look Casimir, just take the trainers to the shed around back, I’ll get started on dinner.” The old bluenette strode off through the paddock, leaving Casimir alone on the cold ground. Casimir stood up with some effort, bruised and strained muscles and flesh protesting as he lifted the two training swords and began to struggle with them back to the shed.

He trudged out of the paddock feeling sore all over as he proceeded to make his way around to the back of the cottage. Crickets chirped noisily, breaking the stillness of the summer evening air, the shadow of the cottage was stretched far across the ground. As Casimir reached the rough wooden shed behind the house he had to struggle with his burden for a moment as he shoved open the stiff door on shrieking hinges. Still muttering to himself Casimir dumped the trainers in a crate towards the back wall.  
“Stupid, impossible things.” He grumbled and heartily kicked a nearby crate, feeling a sharp pain in his foot and a bizarre surge of… something. He yelped loudly and hopped about on one foot for a few moments before looking angrily at the crate. As he gripped the side of it he felt that same strange feeling, some sort of dull thrum deep inside himself, yet the crate appeared to be unmoving. 

Curious about the cause of the strange feeling Casimir began rifling through the crate throwing out gardening gear, some old rags and empty bottles across the floor of the shed. All the time that buzzing thrum kept growing louder and louder, until he saw it. 

A thick book rested towards the bottom of the crate. The cover itself was a dull red with a flame design on it in a startling gold contrast. Curious, Casimir picked up the Tome and immediately felt the surge amplify tenfold, every inch of his body felt charged and humming. Ecstatically he flipped open the book and began paging through it. Words in Old Khadeinian greeted him on each page, flowing script and flowery language extolling the virtue and strength of flame, each page held incantations and invocations. On many there were also intricate arcane designs, detailed magic glyphs and diagrams. The kind that he had tried to copy from the books that father had had him learning from. 

At the thought of his father a burning rage began to fill Casimir and the humming from book sounded louder, filling his ears in a roar. He was snapped out of his quiet indignation by a strong smell of smoke, looking down his eyes widened at the sight of one of the rags on the floor burning a vibrant red. In a panic he quickly stamped the flame out before it could spread.

An idea occurred to Casimir and he ran outside the shed, making his way to the edge of the woods bordering the cottage. Casimir took a deep breath and turned to face a tall mossy stone, he assumed a wide stance, similar to the one he took for swordplay (grandfather said that a wide stance gave better balance which he felt would be useful in this endeavor). He opened the book to a random page, took a moment to examine the writings and diagrams before he spoke.

_“Incandescent blaze, let loose the fury of pure destruction!”_ The old khadeinian flowed easily, almost naturally from his lips. As he spoke he threw out a hand and focused. A surge of energy flowed through Casimir, and for a moment he swore he could hear soft voices whispering. A bright ball of flame sprouted from his hand and flew across to impact the standing stone, burning away moss and charring the stone itself. Casimir looked at his hand, turning it over slowly to check for damage yet he seemed unharmed by the flames.   
“Amazing.” He breathed softly as he adjusted his monocle. A real spell tome, the kind he had read about. From which mages could unleash the fury of nature, power channeled from the spirits filling every page. He felt an enormous grin creeping over his face, with power like this he would be unstoppable, what were swords when placed against the raw power of nature itself? What could a piece of metal do against a bolt of lightning? An arrow against a raging storm? Casimir giggled as he turned the book over in his hands, finally he had the strength to be a knight. 

Realising that his grandfather would likely be wondering what was taking him so long, Casimir tucked the tome into his jerkin and hurried back to the cottage. No more being thrown around in training. No more pitying looks. Tomorrow he would show Maclir that he has what it takes.   
\--#--  
Casimir carried the tome with him the rest of the evening and through the night, finding the thrum of its power comforting and pleasant. In his dreams he was a great sorcerer and legions of villains and monsters fell before a deadly net of fire and lightning he wove, the forces of nature bent to his command and he was a true champion, his power unparalleled. 

The next day training started as usual with Maclir running him through a fitness regime, the running and squats, pushups and sit-ups burned his muscles. But this was one area of his training in which he had markedly improved since he started, and he was able to push through the exercises without too much difficulty. After a short break for lunch Maclir walked over to the shed to retrieve the trainers for sparring practice. Casimir could barely contain his excitement. He was bouncing on the balls of his toes and grinning widely. He flicked through the spell tome once more confirming the incantation he would be using, a weaker spell, one that the tome claimed was useful for training and practice purposes. Re-reading the incantation once more he hastily snapped the book shut and tucked it away upon hearing his grandfather’s solid footsteps making their way back towards him.

Casimir turned on the balls of his feet and smiled at his grandfather who seemed confused for a moment before giving him a small smile in return.  
“Well lad, seems you’re feeling a bit better today, much better form to practice in.” He claimed as he handed one of the trainers to Casimir, who gave a pleased nod.  
“I think I will do much better today.” He replied knowingly. Once again Maclir looked slightly perplexed and Casimir had to stifle a giggle but shortly afterwards the old knight made his way to the other end of the stamped flat section of the paddock they designated as the sparing grounds. He then turned back towards Casimir.  
“Alright Casimir, are you ready?”   
“Definitely.” he was still grinning like a loon.   
“Alright then…” came Maclir’s dubious response. He gave his grandson a salute with his trainer which was returned in kind.  
“Begin!” He barked.

Casimir threw down the trainer and took a moment to adjust his monocle.  
“Lad what are you doing?” Casimir merely pulled out the spell and began his incantation   
_“Flickering Blaze come to me, Embers burn”_ with a flick of his hand a circle of light appeared beneath Casimir’s feet and a small ball of bright blue flames sailed free towards Maclir. The old man looked stunned for half a second before swiftly dodging the small flame. 

Casimir saw a change in the old man’s eyes and felt a chill go through him as Maclir began to advance. Rather than being slow and methodical like his movements normally were in sparring he dashed forwards in a fury. Panicking, Casimir threw out a proper flame spell without thinking which his grandfather barely dodged, singing the hair on the left side of his head. Growing truly scared Casimir found himself trying to channel another one of the spells, a wall of flames to protect himself. But before he could finish the Old Khadeinian incantation Maclir reached him and smashed the pommel of his trainer into the boy’s stomach. Casimir fell to the dry ground all the air in his lungs leaving him with a pained “whuf” sound, struggling up he saw Maclir standing over him, trainer raised threateningly, that foreign look still in his eyes. Casimir let out a scared sob and Maclir blinked. The young mage saw emotions of rage, panic and shame flit across the old man’s face before he bent over and picked up the spell tome that Casimir had dropped, turning to him with a dark scowl adorning his weathered features.  
“Where did you get this?” He ground out threateningly. Casimir shifted uncomfortably under his grandfather’s glare.   
“I found it in the shed.” He whispered in response. Maclir looked aggravated for a moment and Casimir saw him mumble something under his breath, but he was unsure what. Maclir closed his eyes and let out a breath.  
“I’m returning this,” he brandished the tome for effect “to its owner, you need to promise not to pull any stunts like this again.” Maclir commanded. In place of his wariness Casimir found himself now growing angry.   
“No.” he said flatly, looking his grandfather in the eye.   
“No?”   
“No.” Casimir crossed his arms for emphasis.   
“I’m never going to get anywhere with the sword, if I want to be a knight, I need more power, I need to use magic.” Casimir argued. Maclir met his gaze firmly.  
“It’s not about power, you think throwing some fire around is enough to make you a knight? Look at what you did!” Maclir threw his arm out to punctuate his claim, displaying to Casimir the large amounts of burnt grass, and the fire flickering still in some places whilst several panicked sheep bleated and fled the flames.   
“A man with untamed power is no better than a beast.” he muttered bitterly. 

The old knight and would be mage fell silent for a moment before Casimir stood up.  
“Then I just need to practice more, temper my power with control.” He declared.  
“Lad, you aren’t listening to me, you can’t just, URGH.” Maclir ran a hand through his hair  
“Where did you even learn to do this?” he once more indicated the smoldering grass and scorch marks.   
“Before I came here, I was taught Old Khadeinian by my tutors, they said it was important that I learn it.” The boy warily explained, confused at the turn in the conversation. Maclir turned away from his angle Casimir could see the man’s brow furrow for a moment before his eyes widened. The old knight man looked back towards Casimir and gave a sigh.  
“Alright Lad, I’ll let you keep on with this magic, on a few conditions, first, you don’t give up on your fitness and training. Knowledge is all well and good, but a soft lab worker would never make it into the knights no matter how good their knowledge. Second you don’t practice using it on me. Third,” he held up the tome, “don’t begin any more of your spell practice until the owner of this comes to retrieve her property.” Casimir eagerly nodded, ecstatic that he would be able to continue to be a mage. But was struck by the last condition.  
“Why not until the owner comes back?”  
“Well, you can’t go using someone else’s weapon without permission. And while I don’t know much about magic myself, old Rita’s another thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And class change from trainee swordsman to trainee mage. Seriously I honestly think mage might be the objective best choice for your early MU, it balances out the characters you have in the early game. The default of mercenary/myrmidon depending on gender however just gives you a sword locked, no range foot class, which doesn't do a lot that the three cavaliers on your team can't do already.


	10. Valkyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old colleague of Maclir's comes to visit, and Casimir's magical education begins in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH. So sorry everyone, I am a day late with the update, yesterday I had a long drive and then saw friends and between everything this story just slipped my mind, I hope no one is too bothered by the slight delay. Still today is a big update, about 3.5k words. Any comments or discussion is welcome. More notes at the end

There was a nip in the air as Rita rode down the forested way. Autumn had overtaken Altea and the leaves either side were painted in golds and oranges. The damp and earthy smell of leaf mulch pervaded the air. Noticing the muddiness of the ground ahead of her Rita muttered a few words under her breath and gave a casual flick of her hand as she grasped the spell tome in her saddlebag. A whispering from the fire spirits danced in her ears and the ground began to quickly dry, steam rising from it in quickly passing clouds. Ursula gave a rumble of thanks and Rita idly stroked the horse’s neck. 

She checked the letter Maclir had sent her once more for the directions indicated there. As always her sharp grey eyes caught the line that Maclir had scrawled underneath:  
“Found one of your old spell tomes, you need to come and pick it up as soon as you can”. Rita frowned at the letter, there must be something more going on, Maclir would not have asked her to come pick up something as easily replaceable as an old spell tome. If he really wanted it returned to her he could have just included it with the letter he sent off. No that old goat was planning something, and Rita was curious to see what.   
\--#--  
As Maclir’s cottage at the edge of Sera came into view Rita noticed a small figure sitting outside the building in the afternoon sun. Coming closer she say that it was a boy, she’d guess around ten or eleven, who sat outside on the verandah. He had a few books scattered around him, flicking pages in one he peered closely at it, scrunching up his face in frustration before bringing a hand to his face for some reason and quickly scribbling something in one of the other books surrounding him. 

Rita walked Ursula into the fenced paddock before dismounting. She gave her chestnut horse a stroke of her mane before removing her saddlebags then loosening and removing her saddle, hanging it over the nearby fence. Rita started to head back towards the cottage and saw that the boy had stood up and was now looking at her. She could see now that he had deep purple hair hanging to just above his shoulders, rounded features that seemed a little reminiscent of Maclir’s own (perhaps a relative), and wore a monocle over his left eye (presumably this was what he was adjusting earlier).  
“Hello Madam” he said with a polite inclination of his head as Rita approached.  
“Are you here to visit Maclir?” he inquired. 

Rita prided herself on her intuition and observational skills, she had not lasted for thirty years of battle in the Altean knights by being unobservant. The boy’s bearing was somewhat stiff and formal, as was his mode of addressing her. Far different from the casual address one normally received from country boys, both these features pointed to the strong possibility of a noble background. In addition to this his facial features bore somewhat of a similarity to Maclir’s own, though certainly less weathered, suggesting a familial connection. She knew Maclir had a daughter (though the old goat rarely liked to speak of her) who had married into the noble family of Delcurte. It was a name commonly brought up in the capital these days due to the lady of the house’s recent execution for filicide of her only child, agreed by all to be a heinous crime. Yet she saw said child standing before her, Maclir had been busy in his retirement, she mused. 

Beyond this however she noticed a significant magical resonance present in the boy, glancing at the books he had left on the Verandah behind him she noted them as works on magical theorem. So Maclir had his supposedly dead grandson living with him trying to learn magic, and suddenly the purpose and wording of her invitation made far more sense. 

“Yes, I am.” She replied, meeting the boy’s hazel eyes with her own brown ones.   
“Of course.” he intoned before cleaning up the books he had left outside and leading Rita around the back of the cottage. As she followed the boy there was a dull semi-rhythmic thudding sound, as they moved beyond the cottage she spied Maclir, chopping wood at a small logging stand he had set up. It had been a few years since Rita had seen the retired knight but she noticed that his hair now held a few grey streaks on the sides, mingling with its natural blue, and the age lines on his face had deepened. Yet for his advancing age she could still clearly see pronounced musculature on his bare arms, as he swung the axe in a clean arc to precisely split the log in twain. 

“Maclir.” The boy called. Maclir glanced towards him and saw Rita beside his grandson. The old man nodded towards her before putting down his axe, wiping his brow and approaching the pair.  
“Rita, glad to see you decided to come.” He gave her a smile of gratitude. She returned a shrug  
“Your letter implied it was important, I managed to secure a fortnight’s leave, although sir Jagen wasn’t impressed, but he just has to live with it.” Maclir barked a laugh in response.  
“Blunt as always, hah same old Viridian Valkyrie.” He chuckled.  
“I’m hardly the one who’s getting old here, you retired coot.” Rita punctuated her statement with a wave towards his person. Maclir raised an unimpressed eyebrow.  
“And you’re a real spring chicken, with the amount of grey you’re sporting they might start calling you the Silver Valkyrie.” He argued. Rita subconsciously began to raise a hand towards her own short cropped hair before stopping herself.  
“I’m guessing he’s the real reason I’m here.” Rita jerked her thumb towards the boy. Maclir gave her a nod  
“Aye, this is my… ward, Casimir.” He replied.  
“You mean your grandson Kassil.” She corrected, Maclir narrowed his lips in annoyance. She heard a slight surprised intake of breath beside her.  
“I had hoped it would take you a little longer to figure that out.” He moaned, it was her turn to raise a brow.  
“Then perhaps you should try to conceal it better, honestly, Casimir as a cover name, you’ll not fool anyone with that, why not go for something common, like Chris?” Rita drawled.  
“It was a spur of the moment decision, and one I can’t take back now.” Maclir grouched, seemingly offended at her criticisms.  
“So I assume you asked me here to teach him magic.” she flatly stated.  
“You figured that out too then?” The old man seemed to be rather resigned to the state of affairs in which Rita consistently saw through him. Rita gave a soft grunt of affirmation.  
“So, are you willing to help?” Maclir asked her. Rita looked down at the boy beside her, his purple strands stirred slightly in the breeze and he met her gaze, a blaze burning in his eyes. No wonder he had picked up her fire tome so easily, she thought to herself.  
“It might be nice to have an enthusiastic student for once.” An elated grin answered her half-hearted confirmation.

\--#--  
Rita idly flicked through the fire tome Maclir had returned to her, she noticed that the power emanating off it was far below what she would deem ordinary levels. Likely the combination of sitting unused for who knows how many years, and then being utilized for some clumsy casting. Still it did confirm that the boy could cast from at least a basic tome, it made teaching far easier to not be dealing with a fool who couldn’t even decipher Old Khadeinian. She tucked the used tome away, she would need to spend some time later coaxing the spirits to rejuvenate the lost energy. 

“Your grandfather claims that you summoned flames once before, let’s see what you can manage.” Rita pulled out a blizzard tome and cleared her throat.  
 _“Icy spires of the frozen king arise”_ Rita’s voice hung the air at the forest’s edge, a split second later several columns of ice sprung from the earth, throwing up chunks of sod as they rose. Maclir, looking on, merely grumbled about her damaging his turf. Beside her Casimir let out a soft sigh of awe. Taking no time to revel in the boy’s admiration she pressed the fire tome into the boy’s hands. She pointed towards the nearest spire of ice, glittering brightly in the sunlight.   
“Aim for that one, hit it with everything you’ve got.” She commanded. The boy gave a firm nod, meeting her gaze.   
“Okay.” Casimir flicked quickly through the spellbook, focused on a particular page for a few seconds, quickly adjusted his monocle then began to chant.  
 _“Eternal conflagration, bring forth the breath of dragons,”_ as he spoke Casimir moved his left hand in sharp motions before him, a glowing runic circle appearing in the wake of its movements.   
_“All consuming blaze appear before me!”_ The light of the circle he had traced began to glow fervently and a spot of bright red heat appeared in the middle. Rita could see sweat forming on the boy’s forehead as he struggled to summon the spell, Rita heard the whispering of the spirits crescendo in her ears until all of a sudden the young mage stumbled. He let out a breath he’d been holding in a rush of air, the circle of light before him sputtered and disappeared. 

“Damned… thing.” She heard him gasp out between heavy breaths, Rita looked down her nose at him.  
“It’s hardly the book’s fault.” She scoffed, Casimir turned an annoyed look at her, she merely stared him down.  
“Fine, then you do it.” He muttered, passing her back the spell book, Rita shrugged slightly and took it back.  
 _“Eternal conflagration, bring forth the breath of dragons. All consuming blaze appear before me!”_ She expertly summoned forth the magic circle with her free hand as she chanted the spell. From it a brilliant torrent of flames burst forth, blasting into the column of ice and sublimating it in a split second into a cloud of steam. She looked over her shoulder to see the indignation gone from the child’s face, a look of awe stuck there.  
“But, how did you…” He breathed softly, Rita snapped the spell book shut.  
“I’ve practiced for decades, once you walk, you learn to run.” She said nonchalantly. She passed the tome back to the younger mage.  
“Now try again, this time cast what you can rather than trying to be impressive.” He held the book firmly, opened it once more and faced another of the pillars, the boy widened his stance before intoning.  
 _“Incandescent blaze, let loose the fury of pure destruction!”_ light flared beneath him and he threw out a hand. A ball of flames sailed forth, impacting on one of the pillars and leaving a sizable dent from which steam rose and water dripped. 

“Better, still a lot of room from improvement. Your arm movement was off, you held your Ms too long in your incantation, and I honestly have no idea what that stance is. Still there’s hope I suppose.” she listed off, the pride on Casimir’s face swiftly melted away like the ice under the barrage of her critiques.   
“Impressive casting lad, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her speak so kindly of anyone else’s work before.” Maclir yelled from the sidelines. Rita never could understand why people seemed to think her honesty was demoralizing, if they wanted to get better they needed to understand all their mistakes. She waved her hand dismissively at the old Knight’s remark.   
“Alright Casimir, try it again, work on your pronunciation first, remember, shorter Ms”. 

Soon a constant stream of flames were lighting up the woodside area as Rita pushed the boy ever onwards, tweaking his technique constantly. Although she soon gave up on correcting his bizarre swordsman-like stance, she knew a lost cause when she saw one. Maclir left after about half an hour muttering about damned mages and their flames blasting all over the place. Casimir managed to keep up the stream of spellcasting for close to two hours before he finally gave out, collapsing from magical exhaustion. Rita knelt by the boy’s unconscious body, checking his pulse. Finding it still steady she calmly packed away the now mostly depleted tome, another chore for later she thought with a tsk. She then bent down and lifted the boy from the grass with a grunt of effort as her back protested, maybe the coot was right and she was getting old.  
“You know, most people have the good sense to stop before they literally collapse.” she said to the unconscious boy, who naturally offered no response. 

She carried him around to the front side of the cottage, where she saw Maclir in the paddock, scattering seed for the hens, she loudly cleared her throat to get his attention.  
“So you’re finally done throwing fire ar- CASIMIR!” His light remark turning to a distressed shout as he saw the unconscious boy in her arms. He quickly leapt over the fence to reach her, he roughly took his grandson from her arms. Although now unburdened Rita would hardly complain. He too felt for a pulse whilst muttering to himself in a panicked fashion, finally calming and letting out a sigh upon finding it.

“What did you do?” He growled with a baleful glare at her, Rita remained unfazed.  
“I did nothing, it was your grandson who decided to keep casting until he literally exhausted himself to the point of collapse.” Maclir let out a bitter chuckle in response.  
“Aye, he’ll do that.” He gave a shuddering sigh, before once more meeting Rita’s eyes, this time with less animosity.  
“I’ll put him to bed, come inside, I suppose I owe you an explanation for all this.” He said, presumably referring to the boy in his arms.  
“You do.” Rita agreed, and followed him into the cabin as the sun set outside.

\--#--

Maclir gently shut the door to Casimir’s small bedroom. The boy now resting on the bed in the corner, stubborn boy, Maclir thought to himself, that mulishness may get him killed someday. Maclir wouldn’t lose the last of his family if he could intervene in any way. Frustrating as the lad could be, he did begrudgingly enjoy having him around. 

Emerging into the main room of the cabin he noticed that it was bathed in a dim glow from a ball of flame bobbing in the air above Rita’s head, making her appear to be some sort of otherworldly human candle. Maclir pulled a bottle of wine and a pair of goblets from the kitchen pantry and sat down opposite Rita, pouring out the drink and handing one goblet to her. Rita gave a nod of acceptance and took a small sip. 

The matters he needed to inform Rita of were delicate and he couldn’t really say how he thought it best to begin broaching the subject, luckily for him Rita broke the silence.  
“He’ll not be able to cast at all tomorrow, or likely the day after.” She said with a nod towards the closed bedroom door.  
“I’ll start him on communing with the spirits, he should be able to do that much, so at least the day won’t be wholly wasted.” Maclir shrugged in response.  
“You know best here, could never wrap my head around what you mages do.” He conceded.  
“Could be worse, you at least knew well enough to find some theoretical books for him to work with, although the mix you picked was eclectic.” Maclir took a sip relishing the strong flavor on his tongue.  
“I could only get books from travelling merchants, just looked for anything that seemed magical, or that was written in that strange tongue you use.”   
“Old khadeinian,” she corrected, “one of those books was a text detailing the use of magic in cooking. I have not heard of that ever working out well.” Maclir felt his stomach churn at the mere thought of Casimir trying to add magic to his already abominable attempts at meal preparation. He’d already had to bar his grandson from the kitchen after he managed to leave a fish burned to a crisp on the outside yet completely raw within, and he swore the boy somehow gave it extra bones. 

“So, why is a young man, with keen arcane interest living out here in the middle of nowhere, when he could be at a manor, provided with top personal tutors to aid in his studies?” Rita prodded.   
“What do you know about Gharnef?” Maclir asked, voice barely a whisper.  
“Gharnef, the dark pontifex. Oh, that’s a name I’ve been hearing a lot lately, Gharnef, Dolhr… some ill tidings some would say. Caused Sir Jagen no end of panic the way he constantly has the knights scurrying around and jumping at shadows, worrying for the attack.” Rita took a deep draught before continuing.   
“The man’s overtaken Khadein already, killed his fellow pontifex, Grust and Macedon have fallen to his side already, chilling thought.” She muttered the last words to herself, Maclir had hardly ever known anything to scare Rita, implacable as she was.  
“Well before she.” The old knight screwed his eyes shut against the tears and took another breath.  
“Before she died, Mylene told me some more about that dastard, apparently her husband has made some deal with him. Delcurte’s a traitor, and part of his bargain… was giving the sorcerer Casimir.” Rita leaned back for a moment and closed her eyes, far less taken aback by this news than would be normal for most people, mind you, Rita had never been very normal.   
“It makes some sense.” She said after a minute, reopening her eyes.  
“Your grandson is a natural with a spellbook, he’s got the potential to go far, a skilled mage could easily recognize that potential, Gharnef could have made the demand for Casimir as part of the alliance. He’d gains a possible asset of a skilled mage, raised from a young age to be loyal to him and his designs, as well as insurance should Delcurte ever try to renege.” The Valkyrie explained, seemingly uperturbed by the implications.   
“Still I am curious, if you’ve known all this time that Delcurte was a traitor, why have you not taken this information to anyone?” She queried.   
“I have no proof, even if the claim was taken seriously and the crown were to investigate, it may take months. In which time Delcurte would get Casimir back and he could just hand him over to Gharnef.” Maclir’s hand tightened around his goblet, knuckles whitening.  
“I already lost Mylene to this, she died to protect her son, I’m not letting that be for nothing.” He breathed out quietly, voice soft despite the rage filling him at his son in law’s actions.

Rita idly tapped her fingers against the surface of the table, the dull thumps cuttingly loud in the still air.   
“Do you know what Delcurte plans to do now?” She asked lightly. Maclir grunted in annoyance.  
“Can’t say, he didn’t give Casimir to Gharnef, so the whole deal may have been called off-“ Rita scoffed, interrupting the old knight.  
“Hardly, based on what we know of the man, Gharnef’s shrewd, he wouldn’t throw away a potential asset, no matter how minor.” Maclir gave a shrug, in response.  
“I still don’t know what he’ll provide, you’ll need to watch his men should any fighting arise.” Rita hummed softly and took another sip from her goblet.  
“I assume you don’t want me taking any of this information to the knights in your stead then.” Maclir fixed her with a sharp stare, conveying that he would entertain no such ideas.   
“You’d risk drawing a trail back here, and put my grandson in harm’s way.” He sharply replied. Rita gave a slight chuckle.  
“You’ve changed Maclir, putting your family before your country.” She tilted her head slightly and looked him in the eye.  
“You’re lucky you’ve retired, if you weren’t I could have you court marshalled for this sort of stunt.” Maclir huffed a laugh and raised his goblet.  
“A toast to small mercies then” Rita raised her own in acknowledgement and they drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a few minor notes on how I am having magic worked drawn from lore of Archanea setting games (and SoV). Magic is drawn from the spirits and invested in tomes, any sufficiently skilled mage can coax spirits to re-energise a spell tome so long as it is not completely drained, however the forging of new tomes is generally more difficult and only done by experts, dedicated to the craft. The spell tomes themselves are literally instructions for the casting of the spells in various forms, better understanding of magic allows for more advanced spells to be cast, so a truly skilled mage with a fire tome could easily overcome an amateur armed with Thoron (this is basically how I've represented the in game magic stat).


	11. Norne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a errand for Maclir Casimir makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, chapter 11, closing in on the home stretch here. To everyone who has played the game/read supports you probably knew this one was coming. This story is canon compliant (mostly) and as such I need to have thee meeting between Casimir and the only other member of Marth's army that he knows before the start of the game. Comment or kudos if you like, I always appreciate the attention.

Casimir grunted as he shifted the bundle attached to his back, the wood knocking together as it moved. He gave a slight sigh as his burden was no longer pressing into his back. Climbing this mountain looked to be a damnable all day task. Grandfather claimed that delivering the bundle of wood strapped to his back was a fitness exercise, however Casimir was fairly certain that it was a burden shuffled off to him merely because the man couldn’t be bothered to do it himself. The young mage gave an amused snort at the thought.

On reflection he supposed it certainly could be worse. Out away from any humans the spirits were far louder and easier to hear. Rita had claimed that the greatest of mages could properly understand the whispering of the spirits. He wasn’t at that stage yet, he could decipher the tone and emotion of the messages but the meaning of the words themselves eluded him. Still he had decided to fully master the use of magic, and communication with spirits, the source of spells’ power, was essential. Just as grandfather had claimed a good knight must know his weapon so to must a great mage know the spirits. 

So as he trudged on he opened his mind and let it be filled with the half heard mutterings of the spirits. Letting the feeling flow through him seemed to ease the burden of the wood on his back and make the trek easier by the moment. Communing with the spirits was always an enjoyable experience, he found their murmurings soothing. He remembers laughing at Rita’s proclamation that she often found the process tedious, the nebulous language more grating than anything else. He let these lighter thoughts carry him forward on the wooded mountain trail.  
\--#--  
After a few hours of walking he found himself being gently pulled out of his focus on the spirits, there was some foreign noise, out of place with the usual sounds of a forest. Alertness began to gradually return to him, first he could pick up the constant cacophonous birdsong. The occasional crack and dull thump of a twig falling from a tree to the leaf mulch below. The shuffling of leaves as some squirrels darted across the ground through the late autumn leaf fall. Below it all there was something faint, if he strained to hear Casimir could make out a soft whimpering, somewhere ahead and off to the left side of the trail. As he continued listening he noticed that the pattern of the sound was erratic, stopping and starting constantly.   
He stopped to consider for a moment, adjusting his monocle. Whilst it was possible that the noise was from a person, perhaps one who needed his help, it was impossible to say from this distance that it wasn’t from some ferocious wild animal. If he went toward the sound he would be at risk, but if he ignored it he may be leaving someone else to suffer.  
“Well, Grandfather does say the duty of a knight is to the people.” He wryly said to himself before stepping off the track to find the source of the sound. 

Casimir soon noticed that off of the path the woods quickly became confusing. The ground was uneven and to make any headway he had to constantly change directions, and skirt around ditches and thick bushes. He withdrew the fire tome his grandfather had allowed him to take for emergencies and muttered a quick spell, a ball of flames springing to life in his hand. He used the light in order to pick his way forward as the sun was dipping low in the sky and the fading daylight made navigating uneven ground difficult. His one clue that he was going in the right direction was the constant increase in the volume of the whimpering, he could tell by now it was almost certainly human, and was interspersed by chocking sobs. As he rounded a tree he saw the source of the crying.

A girl about his age (perhaps slightly older) was crouched close to the ground. She wore a long pink tunic, belted at the waist over white tights, her red-pink hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was covered in dirt and loose leaves, and clutched a small wooden hunting bow as she cried. Feeling a bit unsure of how to approach, he decided to try announcing his presence first.

“Excuse me, you seem distressed, are you alright?” He politely inquired. In immediate response the girl looked up showing red rimmed eyes to Casimir, which quickly widened as she fell back and pointed towards his hand.  
“Your hand’s on fire!” She yelped, in a moment of surprise Casimir flicked his gaze to his hand before remembering the fire he was still holding there for light.  
“Oh, pardon me.” he sharply flicked his hand setting the flame hovering over his head, shedding its flickering light in a small radius around him. Despite this change the girl still seemed unsettled, her eyes glued to the incandescent candelight floating above him.   
“How are you doin’ that?” She softly asked. Casimir was confused for a moment, he had to remind himself that if this girl was from a country village it was unlikely that she had ever encountered magic before.   
“I, am a mage.” He declared proudly, tilting his chin up, if he was the first magic user this girl met he’d be damned if he didn’t strike a good first impression.   
“Like one o’ them sorcerers from the desert?” She seemed more intrigued, yet still wary.  
“In a way, although I live in Sera, just down the mountain.” Casimir planned to indicate as an illustration of where he had come from, before he realized that he had no proper idea where he had come from. A worm of unease started to eat away at him.   
“What are you doing out here anyway?” He inquired in a valiant effort to distract himself.   
“I,” the girl held in a hiccup “I was out hunting with my aunt,” she indicated the small bow she was holding. “I thought I saw a rabbit and started chasin’ after it, eventually I realized that I didn’t know where I was and I tried to find my way back, and… and.” Her speech became more distressed as she continued, desperate to prevent a breakdown Casimir began to softly rub small circles between her shoulders.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll show you the way back.” He murmured softly to her. She looked up to meet his eyes.  
“You know the way back?” She whispered in a strained voice.  
“Of course I do” He certainly didn’t. The girl smiled in relief and held out a hand.  
“I’m Norne.” She declared, Casimir gratefully accepted the hand and gave a polite bow of his head.  
“Casimir, it is a pleasure to meet you.” A slight laugh from Norne startled him.   
“Did I do something amusing?” He asked, somewhat taken aback.  
“You just sounded real fancy. Are you sure you’re from Sera?” She questioned with a giggle. The young mage sputtered for a moment.  
“I, I just… read a lot, that is all.” He awkwardly defended himself, which set Norne into a greater fit of laughter. He straightened up with a huff, before pivoting on his heel to cover the redness of his face.  
“Well, come along then, I will deliver us to your village!” he announced before striding in what he hoped was the correct direction, a giggling Norne following behind.  
“Lead away, fancy wizard.” 

The pair began to make their way through the forest, up and down hills, winding between the trees. Casimir thought that he recognized some of the shrubs they passed but it was difficult to be sure, the plant life was rather… eclectic. He was fairly certain the small stream they hopped over was not a feature he walked by on his way to Norne. Yet he still continued on, turning back and admitting they were truly lost would just upset his new companion, and then they would not make any more progress. His plans to keep moving however were stifled by a great wall of dried brambles rising before him. 

“You’re sure this is the right way?” The archer girl was sounding incredibly dubious by this time.   
“I am quite certain.” He bluffed, before making a short shooing motion with his hand. “Please move back, I will require space to make us a path.” Norne dutifully took a few steps backward, he took a breath, and adjusted his monocle. Casimir opened his spell tome and began flicking through the pages until he landed on the desired spell. Rita had said that working in rough terrain meant you had to be careful with fire. It was all too easy to start a forest fire and get yourself killed. However, precise and concentrated high heat blasts could be used to burn away foliage without the flames spreading. He steadied himself, this was likely to be a tricky casting.  
 _“Furnace flames, cremate all to ashes and carve us a path!”_ The incantation disturbed the air and he felt the familiar rush of power as the whispering of the spirits rose to a call ringing in his ears. A ring of light appeared beneath the wall of brambles and bright blue flames spewed out, cleanly reducing the affected area to nothingness. Casimir took a few seconds to catch his breath. For future reference, walking for a full day and then casting an advanced spell was not wise. He felt a pair of hands steady him.  
“Are you alright there?” Norne’s accented voice replaced the remaining sibilant whispering in his ears. With some effort he affected an impassive front.  
“Quite alright, shall we move on?” Norne looked unconvinced, but still followed him through the gap he had burnt. The pair continued on their hike for a few minutes in silence before Norne raised her voice.  
“What’s a mage like you doin’ out in the woods? I always thought that y’all sat around reading spell books all day.”   
“I suppose it depends what sort of mage you want to be.” He vaguely responded.  
“What do ya mean?” She pressed, clearly unsatisfied. Casimir, turned around and looked the pink haired girl in the eyes.   
“I want to be a knight.” He declared simply.  
“But aren’t knights supposed to use swords and spears and stuff?” Casimir winced at the mention of swords, reminded of his complete ineptitude.  
“Well, I guess some do, but I have a gift for magic. I want to be the best knight I can be, so I need to capitalize on my skills.” He elaborated.   
“So you climbin’ the mountain was…?”  
“My grandfather’s idea, he’s training me to be knight however he can, he can’t cast spells, but he says that only half a knight’s prowess is in his weapon, and that a well trained body is necessary too, hence, wood delivery.” He waved his hand towards the bundle slung over his back. Norne was looking at him with fascination.   
“So you came to help me because knights are s’posed to help save people?” She sounded enthralled by the notion, Casimir offered a smile in response.  
“Precisely, a knight protects and helps the innocent, and defends their home.” Casimir then began to lead on through the woods once more.  
“That sounds real swell” He heard Norne whisper softly behind him.

\--#--

The afternoon wore on and a couple hours later saw the duo trudging their way into a small clearing. The sun was no longer visible above the treeline and night was fast approaching.   
“Uuum, perhaps we should stop here for a while, to…. Regain our bearings.” Casimir stiltingly suggested.  
“We’re lost, aint we?” Came Norne’s frustrated reply.  
“Lost, no, this is just, a… diversion, because of the… river flooding.” From the unimpressed look on the girl’s face Casimir could tell she wasn’t buying his excuses.  
“Fine… we’re lost” he sighed, Norne plopped onto the ground dejectedly.  
“I thought you said you knew the way back to my village.” She accused. Casimir took off his monocle and polished it on his sleeve, not wanting to make eye contact through the embarrassment.  
“I just, I just did not want for you to be upset and scared any more. I want to be a knight, what sort of knight can’t help one lost person?” He weakly defended.  
“I reckon a real knight would be honest in the first place.” He sighed in concession to her point, and hung his head as he replaced his eyepiece. He started at a hand clasping his shoulder. He looked up to see Norne giving him a wide smile.  
“It wasn’t all bad though, I got to meet a mage who wants to be a knight, and now I aint lost in the woods all alone anymore, I’m lost with a friend.” She gave a laugh at her own statement, one that Casimir quickly found contagious.   
“Heh, It’ll be night soon, I’ll build us a fire, if we are to be stuck out here at least we won’t be cold.” Norne gave a firm nod.  
“That sounds like a plan.”

In an hour’s time night had fallen properly but the pair were not overly concerned, swapping stories of their villages around a merrily crackling fire that Casimir had lit with his fire tome.   
“You didn’t ruin the whole festival roast!?” Casimir shifted, red faced at Norne’s incredulous response.  
“I simply thought that more fire would cook it faster, that book grandfather bought for me suggested the theory was sound.” Her laughter burst out clearly once again, and she slapped the ground beside her several times for emphasis. Casimir chuckled a little himself, upon reflection the whole idea did sound rather silly. He was about to continue the story when a flicker of movement in his peripheral drew his attention to the surrounding darkness. 

“Norne, there’s something out there” He quickly said. The lighthearted mood of their camp evaporating. Norne stood and started scanning the treeline herself, bow gripped tightly in her hands. Casimir stood to join her, conjuring a ball of flames into his own hand with a whispered incantation. The two stood in silence until a crunching noise, something striding through the fallen leaves, reached their ears. The young pair tensed and both readied themselves for an attack. 

A woman with hair like Norne’s and a bow clasped in her own hand strode into their firelight.  
“Norne?” the woman said.   
“Auntie!” Norne cried with joy, running and jumping into the woman’s spread open arms. The woman held Norne tightly.  
“You silly girl, where have ya been? The whole family’s been out lookin’ for ya!” She admonished but Norne seemed undeterred by the scolding. She indicated towards Casimir, who gave an awkward wave.  
“This is Casimir, he was headin’ over to our village when he found me, we tried to find our way back, but we just ended up gettin’ more lost in the end.” She explained. The woman eyed the fire in Casmir’s hand.   
“Looks like you’re a mage, did you make this fire?” she pointed to the campfire burning cheerily in the clearing.  
“That I did madam.” He confirmed, the woman gave him a look of thanks.  
“Good thing you did, smoke led us right to ya kids.” Casimir felt pride fill his chest, even if he had gotten them lost he had at least been responsible for them being found. Something to be proud of… he hoped.   
“Come on then, you two, let’s get back to the village, I reckon you’ll be hungry after such an adventure.” Casimir nodded eagerly, picking up the somewhat lightened bundle of wood he had been carrying, the promise of a full belly pushing him onwards as he followed Norne’s aunt back through the woods.


	12. Pontifexes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casimir studies the work of one Pontifex and learns of the plans of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, I am sorry I am late, just really sorry, had some research I did yesterday and the fic ended up slipping my mind, but here is the update, I hope you all enjoy it. Please leave a comment or kudos or whatever if you enjoy the fic, I would love feedback.

600- Archanean Calendar  
Casimir hastily shut his mouth for fear that he was drooling. Before his very eyes sitting innocuously in a travelling merchant’s caravan was a first edition manuscript of Pontifex Miloah’s treatise on the construction of elemental runic circles. Okay, calm down, he thought to himself. Casimir was painfully aware of his small book budget and if he wanted any chance of landing this beauty he would need to play it smooth. And be blessed with a large helping of good luck. He silently uttered a prayer to whatever gods may be listening, then picked up the book and nonchalantly sauntered around to the caravan’s owner. The merchant in question was a lanky man with choppy black hair and a mess of stubble. 

“So, may I inquire what this is?” Casimir asked, casually holding up the book for inspection. The merchant looked at the manuscript for a moment, squinting deeply.  
“Oh that, that there I picked up in Khadein. Well outside of it, strangest thing, they were burning a huge pile of books outside the city, and right as I was walking past a great gust of wind came along and blew that book to smack me right in the face! Gave me a right scare that little book did, still I figured I might as well hold onto it, you interested in buying?” 

Casimir took a moment to process the merchant what the merchant had just said, they were burning books in Khadein? Rare treasures like this one? What a preposterous notion. The world over Khadein was regarded as the homeland of magic and logic, science and learning, that they would be destroying knowledge defied belief. A queasy feeling settled in the young mage’s stomach as he considered the implications. Pushing through the nausea he schooled his features into careful neutrality. 

“I suppose I might, it does seem of passing interest?” He drawled.  
“Well, if you’re looking to buy then I’ll be asking you for five hundred gold.” Casimir didn’t even have to fake the indignant sputter at such an asking price.   
“Five hundred, ridiculous, I’ll give you twenty gold for it.” He countered, the merchant let out a guffaw.  
“You calling me ridiculous and offering a pittance for what could be a rare book!? 450.” Could be, interesting, although Casimir supposed that the merchant likely couldn’t read Old Khadeinian.   
“Rare? You think this is rare?” He skeptically probed.  
“Well, it must be now, they were burning all the others, weren’t they?” The merchant asserted, Casimir cursed his logic internally.  
“Oh but if they were burning, wouldn’t that make this,” he held up the book for emphasis “a bit of a danger were the mages ever to notice it in your possession? Really it is an act of generosity for me to take this from you at all, let alone pay you… 30 gold for it.” The merchant seemed disturbed by this.  
“They, no they wouldn’t, no…, tell you what I’ll cut you a deal, 200 gold for the book.”   
Casimir had him now.  
“Oh but that is such a risk, taking contraband goods. I don’t think I could go above, let’s say 40 gold.” He offered, the merchant was biting his lip and looking around furtively, as if on edge.   
“I can’t go below 100, I’ll be losing money!”  
“You can go to 50. You told me yourself that you found this book and payed not a cent for it.” The merchant rubbed the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back in frustration.  
“75.”  
“50.”  
“Aaaargh, fine, fifty. Take your damn contraband book, don’t need that kind of trouble around here anyway.” The merchant growled out.   
“My thanks, good sir, a pleasure doing business.” 

Casimir payed the man promptly and with a smile received the book. Walking back to the cottage outside of town he began leafing through the manuscript. Truly the work of Pontifex Miloah was revolutionary, he simply couldn’t understand why anyone would want to destroy such gifts to the world of magic.  
\--#--  
601 Archanean Calendar  
Casimir adjusted his monocle slightly, intently focused on the precise motion of the needle as he pressed it through the soft green cotton in his hands, an emerald thread binding the two sides together in its wake. He managed a few more stitches before the jabbing of the needle into the pad of his thumb elicited a short sharp curse from him, and a bead of blood from the pricked appendage.

“Watch your language lad.” Maclir called from the kitchen where he was chopping some vegetables for a stew.   
“Why is it that I even need to sew?” He petulantly spat, sucking on his injured thumb.  
“Do you expect to be able buy mage robes out here?” Rita remarked from the opposite side of the table, idly flipping through Miloah’s manuscript, occasionally giving a soft hum and jotting down some notes in a small black book.   
“Besides, any good knight can sew to maintain their own gear. Clothes get ripped and cut in battle, you can’t go buying a new shirt every time your old one gets damaged.” Maclir added.

“Fine.” Casimir huffed, turning the fabric he was holding around and working on the other sleeve, a sharp tap at the table stopped him.  
“Don’t bunch the fabric like that. You’ll end up with uneven, and permanently wrinkled sleeves.” Rita admonished, not looking up from the book in her hand.  
“You are not even looking, how is it that you know how I’m sewing?” He queried.  
“Multitasking.” she replied flatly, Maclir gave a chuckle.  
“Another valuable skill of a knight.” He called over his shoulder.  
“I thought you said that cooking was a valuable skill of a knight, perhaps you would like my assistance with dinner?” Casimir teased, causing Maclir to stagger in his preparations for a moment, and eliciting a wicked smirk from boy  
“I know a lost cause when I see one.” Maclir finally replied, Casimir just heard him mumble “But it normally doesn’t take three cases of food poisoning to do so.” under his breath, holding the superior smirk on Casimir’s face as he continued on the fashioning of his robe.

Though the work was tedious Casimir was elated over the prospect of the robe’s completion.Tthe whole thing was constructed of a soft green cotton in which he would embroider runes and words in old Khadeinian using some primed silver thread, to better ward against hostile magic, and to amplify his own. It felt like a landmark in his training to finally have proper mage attire, to move a tangible step forwards towards becoming a knight. A sharp pain brought him back to focus. Well it will be a step forward if I can just stop pricking myself, he wryly reflected. 

“You cast using a derivation of the non-geometric construction that Miloah details here.” Rita stated, finally looking up from the manuscript. Casimir nodded fervently.  
“Yes, although I did not employ the additional binding circle that he recommends.” Casimir replied, he heard Maclir softly groan from the kitchen as the two of them started on what he had generously taken to labelling ‘magic babble’. Rita tilted her head curiously at this.  
“That is an unreliable method. At best it would damage the accuracy of any spell and at worst completely destabilize it.” Rita critiqued in return, Casimir tapped the cover of his spell tome sitting on the table.  
“Perhaps for a thoron tome, or the Pontifex’s own aura. But for a basic fire tome if I employed the stabilizing ring then I’d probably draw less strength rather than more.” Rita conceded his point with a tilt of her head.   
“You’ve come a long way this past year.” Casimir’s chest swelled with pride, Rita was not one to make idle comments, so he knew her praise was genuine.

The three of them continued to work in silence for a short while. Only thunk of knives through vegetables and Rita’s ocassional scribbles breaking the silence. Casimir eventually spoke up to break the silence on a matter that had been bothering him.  
“Rita, might I ask you something?” He softly inquired.  
“You just did.” Came her blunt response.  
“The merchant I bought that boom from,” he indicated the text in Rita’s hand, “he said he chanced upon it in Khadein. That they were burning a vast pile of books, would you know why?” Rita closed her eyes for a moment in thought.  
“Likely to erase competing knowledge. Gharnef already killed his fellow pontifex, and now he wishes to destroy any knowledge that the man might have spread, if he can do that fully it will greaty strengthen his hold over the city of mages.” Rita explained. Casimir felt his guts knot up at the mention of the name. Images flashed in his mind of a walking corpse with a smile that looked like it wanted to swallow him whole. Casimir had to repress a shudder. 

“Gharnef.” he breathed quietly, a white knuckle grip on the fabric in his hands, out of the corner of his eye he could see Rita piercing him with her gaze.   
“Maclir implied you might have met the man, seems he was correct.” She commented, and Casimir did a double take.   
“What?” How could his grandfather know of Casimir’s meeting with the Dark Pontifex some five years ago, the teen swiveled to look at his grandfather. The old man had stopped working on dinner, his shoulders were hunched and tense, he released a deep sigh.  
“Rita, I was planning to tell him myself.” The old knight ground out, the Valkyrie shrugged in response.  
“Then why not do so now?” She lightly replied, Casimir’s head swiveled back and forth between the two until his grandfather finally released a sigh that sounded as if it had been withheld a long time. 

“Do you remember the night you came here Kassil?” The use of his actual name surprised him, for years his grandfather had always called him by his pseudonym.   
“I. I remember mother taking me for a midnight ride on Missie, and then I awoke in your spare room, I was none too pleased.” Maclir gave a bitter chuckle.  
“Aye, you certainly weren’t.” The old man moved away from the kitchen and sat down next to Casimir at the table.   
“I hadn’t seen you mother in years before that night she showed up with you. You can imagine my shock at seeing her again. She said that your father had betrayed Altea, that he was giving national secrets to a man named Gharnef, she couldn’t say why.” Casimir felt burning rage building in his core at the mention of his father, of course the man was committing treason, he clearly had no shame. Maclir gave Casimir a sad look before continuing.

“But what really disturbed her, and made her come here was that she found letters saying that your father planned to give you to Gharnef.” He finished quietly.  
“B-but why… why would he, why would he give me to Gharnef?” Casimir stammered out, adjusting his monocle with a shaking hand.   
“You met face to face yes?” Rita inquired. Casimir gave a slightly confused nod of confirmation.   
“Well then, it’s likely he picked up on your magical potential, and planned to use you for his own ends.” Casimir felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. An image of himself with sunken eyes, blackened veins crawling across his skin and that same vile smirk as the Pontifex flew into the front of his mind.   
“That’s probably why your father killed your mother, or had her killed, if she knew about his plans he would not have wanted her free and moving about.” Casimir barely processed Rita’s callous assessment. He shoved his chair back and sprinted from the cottage, his grandfather shouted after him, and he could hear the man berating Rita as he slammed the door close. 

The air outside was warm for a night, crickets chirped noisily and the trees of the nearby woods swayed slightly under a brilliant starlit sky, it was truly a beautiful night, but Casimir had no eyes for it. Emerging from the cottage he quickly crossed the verandah and doubled over standing on the surrounding grass, sobbing violently as his body try to take in huge gasping gulps of air, making his stomach roil and churn in protest. The Dark Pontifex, he was the one who did it, he tried to take Casimir, to mold him as his own, to become such a twisted thing. The sickness of that thought pushed his stomach over the edge and the young mage heaved bile and acid over the grass, shuddering violently and still sobbing he felt a strong grip descend on his shoulder.   
“Take it easy lad.” His grandfather’s voice intoned. Casimir took a few shuddering breaths, wincing at the disgusting taste now filling his mouth.   
“Why-why didn’t you tell me?” Maclir squeezed his shoulder once more  
“I wanted to make sure you’d be ready, you wanting to do your magic scared me. That sorcerer took away my daughter with his machinations, but you were so pleased, finding a way to become a knight. I couldn’t take that away, I worried you’d start to compare yourself, think you’d become like that man.”   
“I won’t. I can’t. I refuse.” Casimir swore and violently shook his head, he could practically hear the smile that his grandfather gave.  
“Aye you won’t. You’ll be a knight, he wanted to use your magic for evil, so you turn it against his corruption.” Maclir encouraged, Casimir felt bolstered, but still… he stood straighter and pivoted to look his grandfather in the eye.  
“What if he comes for me anyway?” Maclir gave a smile.  
“Rita seemed impressed by your spellwork, and she is not an easy woman to impress, I reckon with time you’ll become even stronger than Gharnef, and you’ll be able to defeat him.” The old knight declared. Casimir gave a shaky smile of his own.  
“Indeed, he won’t destroy any more lives when I’m through with him.” Maclir thumped him on the back causing him to stagger and nearly drop his monocle on the pile of vomit on the ground.   
“Come on, let’s go inside, you’ll be needing a good dinner to make up for what you lost out here, Rita said she’s going to be working you hard while she’s here to make up for lost time.” Casimir groaned in feigned annoyance and followed his grandfather back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, what money is worth in Fire Emblem is confusing. So writing the haggling was a bit difficult to decide how much everything would be worth.


	13. Altea's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayals are put in motion and a once peaceful land falls to be consumed by the empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, here we go, actually getting into plot relevant details, please tell me if I mess anything up, I tried to do my research well and line up timelines properly but it is possible I may have messed something up. Thanks for reading this everyone, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Warnings descriptions of violence and (fantasy) warfare.

602 Archenean Calendar  
The screaming of dying men cut through the air, blood pooling in every dip of the ground. This is no battle, it’s a slaughter, thought Rita grimly. Wheeling Ursula around Rita gripped her Thoron tome tightly.  
 _“Hammer of divine lightning, carve a path of desolation!”_ A deafening crack filled the air, for a split second overshadowing all other sounds roaring across the battlefield as a beam of brilliant lightning reduced whole men to ashes. Damn that traitor Jiol, Gra’s surprise attack had crumpled their right flank like paper. The Altean forces were already undermanned with all Delcurte’s men being ‘mysteriously absent’, and against two armies they were being crushed. They couldn’t even force a path to retreat. 

A whooshing through the air alerted the Valkyrie to the fall of a hail of arrows. Swiping her hand before her a lacework of lightning shattered and reduced the projectiles to splinters before they could land, protecting her and the men clustered nearby. Those further away were not so lucky, as dozens fell writhing to the ground, or ominously still. Rita scanned the battlefield with quick eyes, noticing a thin point in the enemy’s formation ahead and to her left, perhaps they could break through, at least get some of the troops out of this deathtrap.  
“After me!” she bellowed, urging Ursula into a gallop, taking an enemy myrmidon by surprise and trampling the man underhoof as she went. 

She just needed to get a little closer and she could unleash the might of her Thoron tome once again, and clear a path. She could feel the energy in the spell book waning, this would likely drain it completely, it was a shame to waste such a powerful weapon, but necessity’s demand was stronger. She once again began chanting her spell, energy and light surging around her, the spirits clamoring in her ears. She raised her hand, circle of light blazing before her and lightning once more erupted. A blast of agony erupted through Rita. With jerking motions she looked down to her left to see a swordsman there, blade buried deep in her side. She thought it strange, in a detached way, that she couldn’t scream. Normally pain brought screams and wails involuntarily, and yet now she simply found she had no breath anymore. There was an agonizing grating feeling as the blade was pulled out of her. She toppled off of Ursula, who whinnied and reared in fear and panic until an arrow pierced her eye and she fell to the ground. Lying amongst the corpses, the stench of her own blood filling her nose Rita reflected bitterly that she barely cast her spell at all. It seemed her plan had failed, how bothersome, she thought. She was forced to amend her conclusion when she saw a mounted knight in crimson dart through the hole she had opened.

Good, she thought, she was never one to accept mediocrity or failure. The irony of it being her last act would have been… disappointing.  
\--#--  
The atmosphere of Sera had changed, it was plain for Casimir to see. Hardly anyone was outside of their houses, even on a day as bright and clear as today. Those few who were scurried quickly to and from their destinations, a palpable layer of fear fell heavy upon all the town. To see such change quite literally overnight was disconcerting, and only played upon his nerves further from the news that had been brought to the town in rumored whispers. Altea had fallen, there’d been a great battle against the forces of Grust. Yet just when the fighting was about to begin the army of Gra turned their swords on their Altean allies. Treachery abounded from within and without, with the Delcurte forces having deserted and supposedly later helping to infiltrate and bring down the castle itself. The King was dead, his son fled, his daughter imprisoned. The strange thing about living in a backwater village was the way in which news never quite seemed to travel quickly enough. Casimir’s father had helped betray his own country, and he got the news all too late to do anything about it. Chafing on his own impotency Casimir stormed his way through the town square towards the general store.

He felt eyes prickling against his back as he moved through the town, robes flapping slightly with his swift motion. Of course there was the lovely feeling that the whole town instantly distrusted him and Maclir now. Word having got around that his grandfather was the Father-in-Law of the Lord Traitor himself. Of course the simple and logical step had been to assume that the old man and teenager living on the outskirts of a backwater village were integral to some grand betrayal scheme. It was the only reasonable conclusion. 

Casimir pushed open the door to the general store, determined to ignore the stares. He felt that he fared quite respectably on that count, sadly the whispers of “Dark Sorcerer” were less easy to tune out, and grated on his nerves all the further. He determinedly went about collecting the foodstuffs he and his grandfather needed and tromped back around to the counter, his patience quite at an end he slammed his coins down on the counter to pay. The shopkeeper, Gamlen, looked at them worriedly, then turned a frightened face towards the young mage himself, Casimir gave the man a baleful glare.   
“My money is in no way cursed, I simply wish to buy some groceries. Understand?” He ground out through gritted teeth. The shopkeeper nodded fearfully and Casimir rolled his eyes, hefted his goods and walked out to the tune of more fearful and insipid muttering.

Exiting the shop back into the village square, he heard the dull thumping of hooves growing ever louder. He sighed to himself. Of course this would be more bad news. Looking towards the source of the sound he could make out a number of banners stitched with an unfamiliar emblem, although he could likely guess to where the symbol belonged. The thunder of hoofbeats grew louder until a group of a half dozen men on horseback entered the village square. One man supposedly the leader, or just the most self-important of the bunch spurred his horse forward a few steps.   
“People of..” He began with a bellow before whispering to one of the men beside him to remind him of the village’s name.  
“People of Sera!” he began again.  
“The kingdom of Altea has been absorbed into the great and mighty Dolhr Empire! You will be subject to the laws and taxes of the empire as citizens, any breach in these laws will result in punishment as dictated by the governer of this land, General Camus!” The horseback man proudly proclaimed. After this however he seemed to take stock, noticing that the square was practically empty except for his squadron and Casimir, looking to the boy he made a quizzical face.  
“Where are the rest of your people?” He asked.  
“They’re inside their houses, hiding from you.” Casimir replied flatly. In no mood to humour this blowhard.   
“But this is important news! A change in governance! You are now a part of the empire!” He blustered, Casimir wrinkled his nose in distaste.   
“Yes, all here are well aware, the rumor mill outpaced your horses by a considerable margin.” Was his dry reply. One of the other men sniggered and the leader turned a glare towards him.   
“It is important that the populace hear my message, these were my orders!” The soldier was turning red. Casimir gave a smirk, at least he wasn’t the only one completely frustrated by this inane encounter.  
“I’m certain they have all been listening, now perhaps you should wheel your steeds around and ride on to the next town that must hear your, _oh so important decree._ ” his voice dripped with sarcasm. The lead rider was blustering furiously now.  
“Ho-how dare you treat me with such insolence, I am a soldier of the empire and I will be treated by you with respect!” The man continued.   
“Just leave. No one here wants to hear any more from you!” Casimir shouted at the man, who gave him a dark glare. Then without warning the lead rider swung his lance in a wide arc towards Casimir, who reacted with a quick backwards hop out of the lance’s range. The young man grasped his spell tome and muttered an incantation, sending a jet of fire at the ground before the man’s horse, causing it to rear up in fear, whinnying furiously and kicking its front legs in the air. Casimir sent a haughty look towards the rider. Who to his immense surprise managed to reseat himself, even worse he used the motion to stab forward with his lance. The motion, barely dodged to the side by Casimir, was followed up by a sideways swing, smacking the pole of the lance into the young man’s midsection, driving the air from him and causing a sickening crack, flinging him back and to the ground. The back of his head smacked into the ground causing white spots to dance in his vision. His disoriented mind provided that the lance had likely broken a rib… or three, Casimir groaned against the throbbing pain. 

He felt cold metal under his chin, tilting his head up he saw the horseback commander looking down at him with a superior grin.  
“Not so keen to disrespect me now, are you boy?” The man mocked. Fear pooled in Casimir’s gut, he couldn’t die now, not to this oaf, he still had too much to do.  
“Sir, we were ordered not to harm civilians.” One of the other horseman worriedly shouted, the lead rider let out a loud groan and withdrew his lance.  
“Fine.” He muttered.  
“Let this be a lesson to you. To all of you!” he shouted towards the houses.  
“As to what happens when you attempt to defy the might of the Dolhr Empire!” The man then pompously whirled his horse around and led the procession out of town. After they left Casimir struggled to move himself into a sitting position, gasping at the stab of pain that rushed through him as his body protested. He winced further as he realized he had dropped his monocle during the fight, he wearily began to look around to find his missing eyepiece until a hand reached out offering the monocle to him.  
“Here you are dear.” 

Casimir snapped his head up towards the voice to see Maggie, the chubby woman holding out his eyepiece to him with an apologetic look on her face. He took it from her gently.  
“Thank you.” He murmured before polishing the eyepiece and putting it back on, proper focus returning to his vision. He saw a few other people from had gathered behind her.   
“I, well, we.” Maggie said looking to the crowd behind her.  
“Suppose we should apologize.” The woman was wringing her hands in the apron she wore.   
“It wasn’t fair to jump to conclusions. After seeing what happened here, I think we all can agree that you and Maclir aren’t involved with Dolhr. I’m sorry.” The woman bowed her head and a chorus of embarrassed apologies followed her.   
“Well, I should think so.” Casimir haughtily declared, still smarting from the day’s events.   
“But if someone goes and fetches a healer, I shall deign to forgive you.” he cringed slightly as pain shot through his ribs. Maggie turned and shooed off one of the men from the crowd.   
“Someone should go and tell Maclir about what’s happened.” she voiced, Casimir groaned which caused another stab of pain. His grandfather would not be pleased with him having gotten in a fight with a bunch of mounted soldiers.

A few hours later Casimir was resting on a bed in the inn (the healer having declared moving him too far in such a state to be dangerous) whilst Maclir vigorously scolded him. He was told in no uncertain terms that he was to avoid any further confrontation with the soldiers, and that getting himself killed foolishly would do no one any good. Casimir let the noise wash over him for half an hour until his grandfather stopped ranting and took to quietly pacing the room.   
“Grandfather.” Maclir turned to face his grandson.  
“Hmm.” he hummed and raised a brow.  
“It’s true, Altea has fallen.” Casimir murmured. Maclir sighed, and sat down heavily on the bed beside Casimir.  
“Aye, it has,” Maclir said quietly “thirty five years…” the last statement barely a whisper.   
“I couldn’t do anything.” Casimir gripped the sheets tightly and hung his head.   
“I was bested by a blustering oaf on a horse.” He spat bitterly.  
“You picked a fight with a squadron of mounted men! What did you think would happen!?” Maclir shouted back, Casimir winced in response.   
“Did you think you’d defeat them all? Reclaim the kingdom in a one-man crusade!?” He jabbed a finger towards the young mage to accentuate.  
“You’re fourteen, you can’t change the world single handedly, no matter how much you want to.” Maclir said, calming.   
“Don’t kill yourself trying lad, don’t…” He trailed off, Casimir felt shame filling him.  
“Then what is it that I _should_ do?” The teen asked.  
“Keep with your training, keep working, learning, your time will come-“  
“But when!? Altea’s fallen… we’re just a part of the damnable empire now.” The bitterness returned to Casimir’s voice.  
“And from who should I learn, the army was annihilated, Rita is,” he sucked a shaky breath.  
“She’s dead.” Maclir put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder.  
“I am an old man, I’ve seen a lot in my time, and if there’s something I’ve learned, it’s that everything ends eventually. Trust me, your time will come.”


	14. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fires of war fall upon Sera, and much is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooey, this is the big one people, arguably the climax of the fic, I hope you all enjoy it. As always please leave a kudos or comment if you do, I would love to hear something from you guys!

604 Archanean Calendar  
Casimir found himself disconcerted by how little things had changed. He expected that under the rule of an evil empire that all life would become horrible toiling, abuse of the people and permanent malaise of the land itself. He reflected that perhaps such a view was somewhat naïve. Yet in the years following the takeover of Altea little seemed to have changed for Sera, save the occasional patrol of Dolhr soldiers. Keeping his grandfather’s words in mind he avoided interactions with these men if possible. His resolve was sometimes tested. On a notable occasion one of these soldiers saw Casimir practicing his spellwork and recommended he join the army when he was older. He had sent a dark scowl towards the soldier, using all his willpower to clench his fists in annoyance and not throw fire at the woman.

By what rumours passed through the backwater village of Sera Casimir gathered that this relatively peaceful occupation was due to the will of the Governor Camus. He supposed he had to give the man a sort of begrudging respect for his protection, although he found himself puzzled why such a man would choose to follow those like Gharnef and Medeus. However he never truly understood how important this protection granted to the people of Altea until it was lost.  
\--#--  
He’d first seen the flames on the horizon, their blaring glow lighting up the dusk sky. Smoke rising, billowing into the air and spreading the pungent scent of desolation. Of course Casimir reflected it would be his luck that in a moment of crisis his grandfather was out, still he knew that the time for action had come. He snatched up his fire tome and sprinted from the cottage, deep green robes whipping in the wind as he dashed down the dirt road to Sera. 

He had walked the road many times, but rarely run it, and never with such desperation. His pace was great enough that several times his monocle almost slipped from his face and his breath grew ragged as he closed in on the town. But the distant sounds of screams spurred him on, granting him a second wind in short order. As he came upon the town itself he felt as if he’d entered a nightmare.

The peaceful village of Sera, always calm and often sleepy, was ablaze. Houses and shops on both sides of the streets had been set aflame, the heat was oppressive and the smoke choking, causing Casimir to sputter and cough. Yet he still needed to move forward, the screams and shouts were coming from the town square. He covered his mouth with a sleeve and pushed onwards.

Emerging to the town square Casimir was able to breathe somewhat easier as the houses there were not yet burning. However this was where he found the people of Sera, scores of men, women and children huddled in the center of the square, faces blotchy and tear stroked. He saw a pair of spearmen and two myrmidons standing guard over the huddled masses, a trio to the side were dragging more people forth, an axeman breaking down doors whilst another pair with spears entered houses and emerged with struggling civilians, their lances held to the villagers’ backs. One man tried to make a break for it only to be stabbed in the back, falling to the dirt a puddle of blood spreading around him and drawing shocked cries from several of the people huddled in the center of the square.

Casimir took a moment to steel himself before stepping forth.   
“Halt, what are you doing?” He shouted towards the soldiers. The men looked between each other confused, before the axeman started to approach.  
“Alright, boy, get over there with the rest.” He indicated the huddled masses with the head of his axe. Casimir adjusted his monocle, hand shaking in indignation.  
“I repeat. What. Are. You. Doing?” He ground out slowly, the axeman did not seem impressed.   
“Get over with the rest of them if you don’t want to be hurt boy, this village has been ordered for destruction by Governor Morzas.” Morzas, this was a new name. Casimir supposed that a man who showed leniency like Camus had would not last that long in the Dolhr Empire.   
“Ah, I see.” Casimir said, his head lowered which the axeman wrongly took this to be a sign of submission and started to approach. 

“You know… I have been waiting for this day for quite some time.” he softly murmured.  
“What are you talking about boy? Just go over there.” Casimir’s head shot up and he withdrew his tome from the depths of his robe. A shouted incantation and a shining glyph appeared in the air between the young mage and the axeman. From this glyph a torrent of flames spewed forth engulfing the man. his flesh sizzled and burned, the powerful smell assaulting Casimir’s nostrils, the axeman flailed about for a few moments before falling to the ground, his corpse still ablaze. The whole town square seemed to freeze for a moment the other soldiers looking on in shock. Casimir watched on in a sort of odd disinterest, he had never killed before, never truly expressed his own strength. He couldn’t suppress the sort of sick satisfaction that filled him at striking the man down, to finally use his magic for good, to make a change granted him a sense of completeness. 

The moment did not last forever however. The pair who had been working with the axeman sprung into motion, lowering their spears and charging toward Casimir, he held out his hand, intoning another incantation. A brilliant glyph appeared and a ball of flame sprung forth, bursting and engulfing one of the two, the other staggered in shock for a moment before resuming his attack. However his strike was clumsy and predictable, Casimir easily sidestepped his thrust before raising his arm and summoning a pillar of flames to engulf the man, leaving a third burning corpse. Some of the townspeople cheered him on. 

Barely reacting in time Casimir leapt back. The blade of one of the myrmidons cutting through the air with a dull whistling. His arm was shallowly cut, blood oozing forth, yet he thanked his reflexes for saving his hand from being severed wholly. The myrmidon pressed his advantage, nimble blade dancing before him. Casimir was forced to continuously backtrack, sweating as the swordsman did not give him ground to manifest even a simple spell. The young mage felt his foot catch in a pothole in the ground, his halted backstep allowing the myrmidon’s sword to cut him across chest, forming a deep, bloody line. Casimir fell back to the ground with a scream of pain, his head cracked against the ground. The throbbing ache contrasted with the burning agony of the slash across his chest, causing a blazing cacophony of pain. His unfocused eyes saw the triumph on the myrmidon’s face as he raised his sword for the killing blow, only for a swifter blade to pierce the man under the armpit. The Swordsman jerked for a moment before swiftly slumping and expiring. Maclir withdrew his sword and shot Casimir a worried look before turning to the three other men.

“Anyone else want to try and kill my grandson?” He taunted, levelling his sword forward in a challenge. This served to enrage the remaining three soldiers, one spearman reached Maclir first. Despite the superior reach of his weapon Maclir easily swatted aside his blow and rammed his blade deep into the man’s torso. Casimir was slightly chilled by the total and dark focus in his grandfather’s eyes. Wondering through his pain if that was how he’d looked when fighting, when killing. 

The other swordsman reached him next and so began a deadly dance of blades. Clearly this man was skilled to be able to keep up with Maclir. Yet despite the man’s superior speed Maclir’s ability was clearly greater, his blows surer and stronger. The Myrmidon’s dizzying web of steel was slowly pushed back as all eyes were glued on the dueling pair. The duel ended suddenly as the myrmidon let himself be left open slightly too wide in the wake of one of his slashes. Maclir filled the gap with his own sword and another body dropped to the ground. 

Maclir turned to face his last foe only to meet a spear to his gut. The spearman huffed a disbelieving laugh, and shocked gasps emerged from the huddled townspeople.  
“GRANDFATHER!” Casimir’s anguished scream rent the air. Maclir slowly turned his head to face his injured grandson. Their eyes met and Maclir gave Casimir a sad smile before quickly raising his blade and slashing across the spearman’s neck, who fell to the ground choking on his own blood. A moment later Maclir fell too, yet far more slowly. And when he hit the ground he was far stiller. Burning from pain and heartache Casimir blacked out as he heard a series hurried of footsteps moving over towards him.  
\--#--  
A dryness in his throat was the first thing he noticed. A persistent soreness that he tried to swallow down but found he lacked the saliva to do so. Other sensations of his self came in bits and pieces. Notably a dull throbbing pain in his head and a slight ache across his chest. He then felt a heavy woolen blanket draped across his body, and a slight breeze stirring his hair, flinging long purple strands to tickle his nose. That was peculiar, Casimir reflected, he never left his window open when sleeping, bugs and animals from the nearby woods were too inclined to climb in through the window during the night. 

He cracked open gummy eyes to examine his surroundings, he seemed to be in an unfamiliar room. No, not wholly unfamiliar, the table beside the bed and the pattern of the blankets reminding him of the time he tried to fight those mounted soldiers two years ago and he had needed to rest in the inn rather than returning home. Something stirred in his mind at the memory, fighting Dolhr soldiers sounded familiar but.

In a flash a vision appeared before him, a spear stabbing through his grandfather as he tried to stem the blood flowing from a blade cut across his chest. Shaking slightly Casimir pushed himself upright in the bed to rest against the headboard and looked down the nightshirt he wore. There, slashed across his chest, was an ugly, long band of discoloured and scarred flesh. If the scar was there, the memory was real, if the memory was real then Maclir was stabbed and- Casimir let out a sob at the implications, yet with his dry throat it came out like a croak. From this he heard a set of footsteps rushing up the stairs of the inn.

Maggie’s worried face poked through the doorframe, framed by somewhat frazzled looking curls. The woman had a weary look about her whole appearance, yet she seemed to perk up at seeing Casimir up.  
“You’re awake, oh thank the gods” she said happily. Casimir tried to respond, yet his voice came out only as a dry rasp. Remembering herself Maggie quickly fetched a pitcher of water from outside the room and poured him a glass. Casimir quickly downed the first glass, then the second, and took the third to sip on.   
“Maggie, where is Maclir?” Casimir asked. Voice as steady as he could hold it. The woman looked away awkwardly for a moment.  
“He… well you see, during the fighting you were hurt terribly, we were scared that you’d die, the village healer did his best, tried to stitch up your wound and stop the bloodflow, but even then, things didn’t look good.” She wasn’t answering his question, Casimir felt tears stinging his eyes, he was fairly certain he knew why.  
“But then, the prince and his army came through, claiming they were going to reclaim Altea and throw out the empire, if you’re believe it!” Maggie’s tones were becoming more excited, as she clearly enjoyed this news and its potential for gossip.  
“Well he asked us in the village if we could spare any food for the soldiers. Of course we were happy to help the prince. But I tell you he was a real kind soul, he offered us more than fair pay in return, even had some of his soldiers helping to fix things up around town, as best they could at least. You could see he really cared about what had happened to our little village, right gem that young man was. Anyways he had this sweet young woman with him, Lena I think, said she was a cleric and offered to heal any of our sick, well she was a right gift from above, we took her to you and she fixed you right up with that staff of hers. Saved your life. She said there’d be a scar and all because she didn’t heal you right away but-“  
“And what about Maclir?” Casimir interrupted Maggie’s rambling, somewhat irritated.  
“Did this Lena woman save him too?” He said, irritation edging his voice, Maggie’s gaze avoided his own, and this made the answer definite.

“I see.” Casimir whispered, tears that were building in his eyes dripping down to splash on the quilt. Maggie awkwardly tried to console the grieving young man  
“Casimir, he was, well. We all are so grateful to the two of you… for what you did, we gave him the best burial we could and all.” Casimir barely paid attention to her words, his own inattention and inexperience had gotten his grandfather, his only family left, killed. Maggie tried to give him a consoling hug, but he shoved the woman off with what little strength he had in this state, Maggie looked at him then with sympathetic eyes.  
“You said, in that fight. You called Maclir ‘Grandfather’, I know it must be hard, you two had been together so long, you being his ward. Must have felt like real family. It’s always hard losing family.” Somehow Casimir doubted Maggie had as much experience with it as he did by this point. Although he supposed he was lucky that her conclusion as to his relationship with Maclir was not wholly accurate. He remained silent to her sympathies and kindness until after granting an offer for him to stay with her the woman finally left the room. 

Casimir felt lost, and more alone than ever before, he hadn’t really thought about how much he relied on Maclir’s presence. How his guidance had become a compass over the years, and now it was gone. It was a subtle feeling, against the immediate pain and sadness, but one he could feel still powerfully. Whatever happened now he was certain of one thing, he couldn’t stay in Sera any longer.


	15. Epilogue: Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casimir says a last goodbye before leaving for his new life.

605 Archanean Calendar

“Well, Grandfather. This is it, I suppose. I am finally ready. I’m going to the capital, I am going to become a knight.” Of course Casimir received no response, gravestones not being known for their conversational skills. Maggie had been honest when she claimed that the village had provided Maclir with the best burial they could. The tombstone placed over his grave was beautiful white marble, into the top of which his sword had been set as a reminder. A few simple words had been carved.

Sir Maclir  
537-604  
Guardian and Knight  
May we remember his sacrifice

Apart from the possible showiness of the marble Casimir felt like his grandfather would have approved, the words worked well for him, succinct and appropriate, it brought a rueful smile to the mage’s face.  
“I will be serving Prince Marth, the Hero King as some have started to name him. Although calling him prince and king is quite confusing, I shall need to figure out which title is more appropriate I suppose.” He gave a chuckle.  
“I think you would approve, he is a good man by all accounts, and you were right once again, he lead an army and toppled Dolhr, everything does end… ” Casimir released a weary sigh  
“you included, I suppose.” He paused for a moment and looked around, the villagers had chosen to bury Maclir outside of his cottage, well Casimir’s cottage now. The sight seemed so unchanged compared to what it was when he first came to Sera. The only real difference being the animals that had lived there being gone, Casimir had sold them to help raise money for his entry into the knighthood.  
“Maggie and Ruth have offered to come around and keep the place clean, and maintain your grave. So, that is kind I suppose, everything shall be looked after.” The young man rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. 

“I am sorry, but I cannot stay here myself. I do not believe you would wish me to either. So, this is the time, I’m going to finally become a knight.”   
Casimir slowly turned around and began to walk away from the grave and cottage by the woods, halfway across the paddock he turned back.  
“Grandfather, I… this is farewell, I… I am sorry I-.” A strong gust of wind caught him off guard and he staggered as his robed fluttered around him wildly and he nearly tripped, the weight of his rucksack overbalancing him. 

For a second he swore he could almost hear his Grandfather’s voice.  
“Just go on already lad, you’re ready.” Casimir smiled to himself and shook his head at the slightly fanciful thoughts. Yet he felt warmed all the same as he set off towards the capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou everyone who has read this story. Thankyou from the bottom of my heart. I am under no illusions as to my writing ability, I am no great genius at it. But if through my story I have provided even a small amount of enjoyment to anyone then I can be truly happy with it. I started this story because I thought Cris was interesting as an MU, and had basically no reason for why they acted the way they did besides "My grandfather told me to", and so I wanted to flesh out what I thought was potentially an interesting character, who got fairly little in canon as they are an MU. In future I may pick up this story again and write the next part, but due to only a reasonably small number of people reading this story I may not do so, at least for a while. All the same I hope you enjoyed it, it has been good. Thanks.


End file.
